#so when i saw some of his new content and saw the beard and ranting into the camera my first thought was that he had big divorced vibes lol

[cowboyjimkirk]

i don’t suppose i have much of an audience for dog training and ethology on this blog, but i am just obsessed with Zak George spending years making inoffensive and clickbaity videos that grew him a large audience and a reputation as a prominent positive/force free trainer and then suddenly leveraging all of his influence to go on the warpath against aversive methods and “balanced trainers.”

every day i see him doing live videos calling out trainers like Cesar Milan, calling for harsher criticism of outdated methods and the trainers who use them, critiquing the wishy washy statements of other positive trainers, getting into the minutiae of shock collar studies, and in short just being totally unafraid to alienate the audience he’s spent years growing and that he relies on for his livelihood.

i’m a big fan and i think we should all aspire to that level of radicalization

[callalillywrites]

Surprising His Omega

I've been surrounding myself with so many wonderful alphas in one of my all-time favorite verses. It made me a little sad that I couldn't have an Alpha!Steve in that verse even though I adore my Beta!Steve.

So, I decided to make a new verse just for Alpha!Steve (Nomad look). What better way to debut him than with the lovely challenge of the Horny Hoes Hootenanny by the amazing @yenzys-lucky-charm and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork. I'll admit this got away from me a bit, but I do hope you enjoy.

Relationship: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader

Prompts Used

🍁 A: "Oh, come on, grump. It will be fun, I promise” / B: "What do I get if it's not?" / A: " What do you want?" (small tweaks)

🍁 A/B/O

🍁 partner plans surprise event/night

🍁 autumn Getaway

Extra Wheel Prompt: A Quickie

Word Count: ~1850 + Bonus at end (355 words; based on this post)

Summary: You've been feeling pressure for too long, and your alpha is determined to transform your grumpiness back into the sunshine you typically are. So, he decides to surprise you with a little autumn getaway.

Warnings: implied smut/allusions of it, grumpy reader, sweet and doting Steve Rogers, some spanking, some teasing, mostly fluff though, let me know if I missed anything

A/N: I wrote this story in a fit of inspiration. It’s proofread but all mistakes are my own. Please be kind as this is the closest I've gotten to writing smut in such a long time, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

It’s been a long month.

Between the heatwave that descended on your city and the trials and tribulations heaped on you at work, you’d hit your limit. Your usual sunshine demeanor has taken one too many hits until all you want to do is grump and grumble. Maybe hide away until life decided to be kinder to you.

But that wasn’t possible.

Your alpha would never allow you to wallow. That wasn’t his style.

Sure, he’d let you rant and vent to your heart’s content when you needed it, but he never let you stay low for too long. He needed and loved your sunshine too much to see it dimmed or diminished due to life.

No, your Steve always came up with a plan to bring your bright smile back on your face. He liked that bounce in your step and the cute wiggles you did whenever you were truly happy.

So, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise when he leaned in the doorway of your shared apartment’s living room. His arms crossed over his broad chest while he regarded you for a moment before saying, “Get up, sweetheart. We’re going out.”

You glanced at the smile on his face and burrowed further into the blanket covering you.

“No thanks.”

“Oh, come on, my little grump.” He pushed off the wall and dropped next to you. His hands made quick work of removing the blanket from you and tossing it across the room. He ignored your glare as he pulled you into his lap and pressed a kiss to your temple.

You couldn’t help grumbling, “I’m not a grump.”

That earned you an eye roll and a huffed laugh.

“I could smell your grumpiness from the hallway, sweetheart. So, get up. I have a little surprise for you. I think you’ll really like it. At the very least, it’ll be fun. I promise.”

You did like his surprises.

Yet, you resisted, which really wasn’t like you. That told you more than anything that you needed whatever your adoring alpha had planned for you.

It didn’t stop you from asking, “What do I get if it’s not?”

“Hmm,” Steve pressed another kiss to your nose this time as he considered you. A chuckle slipped out when you wrinkled your nose because of his beard.

You had to fight not to squirm when he rubbed his beard down your cheek to your jaw, little kisses and nips tickling your skin. It grew worse when his lips and beard found your mating gland. On his way, he made sure you saw the playful twinkle in his gaze.

His teeth nibbled along his old marks. Shivers danced along every nerve and had you unable to sit still in his lap. No doubt by design with the way he kept doing it.

When you made to get away, he tightened his hold on you but finally relented.

You gave him your best reproachful look as you crankily mumbled, “You never answered my question.”

“I don’t need to because I know you’re going to love it.”

Your look turned withering at his teasing assuredness.

As much as you wanted to be mad at him for messing with your perfectly acceptable plans to sulk, you couldn’t. He was a good alpha who always did his best to make sure you never lacked for anything, especially his love and attention.

After another moment passed in quiet, Steve relented again. “Okay, okay, beautiful. What would you want?”

Well, you hadn’t expected him to actually answer your question with one of his own. That wasn’t his style, so you had to make sure your answer would be a good one. It needed to be something you actually wanted while also having the power to surprise your alpha. If you didn’t keep him on his toes, then what was the point?

While you continued to ponder how to answer, Steve kept himself distracted by moving one arm so he could trace patterns where your hoodie’s sleeve had hiked up. His lips resumed their earlier teasing with little nibbles and nuzzles against your neck until you couldn’t take it another moment.

Gripping handfuls of his hair, you tugged his head backward until he could no longer reach you with those sinful lips of his.

“If I don’t like whatever you have planned,” you tightened your hold in his hair to make sure you had his full attention while also pulling a groan from him, “then you owe me one of the best quickies wherever you’re taking me. Don’t care where you do it or how, but I want you to rock my world in the shortest amount of time possible.”

His eyes darkened with promise at your words, but you refused to give into that look.

You arched a brow at him. “Do we have a deal, Alpha?”

The way you emphasized his designation worked the way you hoped it would. Another groan escaped him, louder this time while his lustful eyes closed.

“That’s a dirty trick, and you know it,” he growled, his voice low and almost menacing in ways that had you shifting your position on his leg. His hands moved to your hips and held you still. It wasn’t like you couldn’t feel the evidence of your effect on him against your thigh.

If you felt a bit more daring, you might’ve teased Steve some more.

When he did open his eyes again, his lustful gaze met yours.

“Yes, ‘mega. We have a deal.”

He held you another moment before finally setting you on your feet and smacking you on the ass.

“Now, love, go and get dressed in something warm. You’re going to need it for the drive. I’ll handle everything else.”

You moved toward the bedroom but turned back. “Wait, how far are we going?”

“Uh-uh.” Steve shook a finger at her. “Not going to ruin my surprise, sweetheart. Now, go. It’d be nice to get there before it gets too late.”

The sun had gone down not long ago, but it went down earlier during these late Autumn days.

Within thirty minutes, you had changed into the warmest clothing you had within your summer wardrobe. It hadn’t been much which reminded you to dig out your winter clothes as soon as you could. The nights dictated warmer pajamas though the days still held a touch of warmth when the sun shone down on a cloudless, windless day.

Trading your cami and shorts for a longer sleeved shirt and some form-fitting jeans, you picked up the hoodie you temporarily removed and wiggled back into it.

Emerging from the bathroom, you spotted your overnight luggage sitting on the bed. Your brows rose as you took in the items Steve had chosen for you while including brand-new toiletries that he must’ve picked up on his way home.

You couldn’t help wondering how long he’d been planning this surprise.

The amount of clothing wasn’t much, which spoke of a shorter surprise, yet that didn’t mean much where your alpha was concerned. He’d once treated you to a week-long trip where he’d not only bought you new clothes for the week but almost everything else your heart desired. Steve loved to spoil you with the money he made, and you’re happy to return the favor in your own special way.

“Bout ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded. “Just need to grab my boots from the closet.”

“Already packed in the car. Came back to grab you and your bag.”

True to his word, he strode into the room, zipped up the zipper, and lifted the bag off the bed. While he had only one arm available, that didn’t stop him from swooping low and lifting you over his shoulder. As the world tilted, you could still make out the chuckle that left him at your shriek, wholly unprepared for his stunt.

To pay him back, you reached down and smacked his ass. Once for the one he’d given you earlier and another for not warning you before turning you upside down.

“Save it for our destination, love,” he murmured, another promise clear in his voice.

At the car, he carefully set you back on your feet before opening your door and helping you in. With you secured in the passenger seat, he closed your door, opened up the back door, and tossed your bag onto the seat in quick, efficient movements.

He surprised you when he got into the driver’s seat and reached behind your seat. In his hands, you found your favorite blanket and draped it across you, tucking you in. Though, he made sure to leave a space for his hand to creep under the cover and rest against your thigh after he started the engine.

The trip took you both out of the city and into the Catskills.

Soon enough, he pulled off the main road onto a private one until you came upon a modernly rustic cabin. Steps from the unpaved drive led to a wraparound porch and the large front door. The outside gave you a hint of the luxuries and open floor plan awaiting you inside. Small electric lanterns sat in the windows, giving the place an ethereal glow.

As Steve killed the engine, he turned toward you, asking, “So, sweetheart, do you like it? It's ours for the weekend.”

“No, I don't like it,” you shook your head but met his gaze while a smile emerged across your features, “I love it. And I love you.”

You leaned over the console and grabbed his cheeks in your hands. Tugging him close, you pressed kiss after kiss against his lips until you were both breathless.

Steve finally urged you out of the car and into the house, handing you the key to the front door. He would follow you after gathering your things from the car.

The earlier hints did little justice to what you found inside, wandering about the place. Your eyes couldn’t take it all in. You couldn’t help noticing how your surroundings were erasing the grumpiness that had weighed you down these past weeks.

When warm hands gripped your hips, you didn’t even startle. No, you melted into the solid chest at your back and let your alpha hold you for several precious moments.

“Happy?” he murmured in your ear.

You hummed your answer.

“That’s good, love,” he suddenly lifted you into his arms and carried you towards one of the doors down the hallway, “but I’m certain I can make you much happier in, say, five minutes. Is that too long for a good quickie?”

“But, I didn’t win our deal,” you couldn’t help spluttering though your thighs had already begun to rub together.

Steve merely grinned down at you. “Seems to me you did. I promised you’d like it. Love is not like, so I’ve got some making up to do. After your quickie is done, I’m going to make sure you’re properly fed, then I’m going to take my time tonight until you no longer remember your own name. How does that sound?”

“You can do whatever you want, Alpha. I’m at your command.”

Bonus:

Long after Steve had you forgetting your name, he had you spread across him. His hands ran up and down your back in soothing caresses while he pressed kisses to your hair every so often. Your heartbeat slowed to match his.

"What happened at work to have you at your grumpiest today, sweetheart?"

Heat suffused your cheeks as the memory came back. You did your best to hide your face in his neck. Maybe if you could distract him with a few strategic nuzzles and nips, then you could try to forget.

He wouldn't be distracted.

Lifting your face up by your chin, he kept his sharp, knowing gaze on you until you broke, whispering, "I had to write a company-wide memo. In the span of three paragraphs, I couldn't type hope to apparently save my life."

That got you an eyebrow lift.

Knowing your alpha he wouldn't let you get away with explaining further, so your cheeks heated more as you grumbled, "I kept typing hoe instead of hope. Happy now?"

Steve didn't say anything at first.

His brows rose though.

Then, his shoulders shook, and your head dropped back to hide your face in his neck. A groan slipped past your lips.

"Oh, sweetheart." His laughter escaped him then.

You grabbed a pillow and hit him with it, grousing, "It's not funny. Do you know what would've happened if my boss hadn't proofread it before it went out? I'm still embarrassed it happened at all."

Steve's hands came up in a surrendering gesture even as his laughter continued to escape in chuckles now and again.

"My poor 'mega, has your alpha not been taking good enough care of you?" His voice dropped to a husky timber that never failed to send a shiver of promise down your spine.

You glared at him though a smile did peek through. "My alpha takes very good care of me, but I wouldn't mind being reminded again how good that care is."

His scent thickened with his desire as he shifted until you were under him. His beard tickled your ear. "Your wish is my command, sweetheart."

*****

Main Masterlist

If you've read this far, you are absolutely my favorite. I'm opening up requests to write a few more stories for the Horny Hoes Hootenanny. Send me a few prompts from the masterlist, and I'll see what I can do.

*Now, I'm a fluff writer by nature and haven't yet ventured into the realm of smut writing. I'm working on getting there, so please bear that in mind if you do request something. Depending on the request, I might be persuaded to hint or imply such smut, but I can't guarantee I'll go in full detail.

[hvnnibalecter]

SKETCHBOOKS AND DREAMS. | A.H

CHARACTERS : Artistic Director/CEO!Aaron Hotchner.

RATING : fluff, i guess.

A/N : The mad creativity is striking again. Big thank you to @hoe4hotchner for letting me rant about my ideas. English isn't my first language, so it is possible that there is some grammatical errors along the way. divider is from @cafekitsune, icon is from @ssa-sapphic . No use of Y/N.

summary : Aaron Hotchner knew that it wouldn't be easy to become have his own clothing brand, the world of fashion was cruel, but he wasn't the kind of guy who gave up on his dreams.

Aaron Hotchner had always spent more time drawing on notebooks, busy looking at the curves of a body rather than listening to his teachers. He dreamed of becoming a fashion designer, despite the almost disgusted look of his father who found the bottle of whiskey more interesting than him. Despite the looks, the mockery of his classmates when they saw the drawings, Aaron was sure of one thing: if he gave himself the means, he could become someone important in the world of fashion, he just had to continue to preserve to achieve his dream. Work, again and again, try to find his way in a world that he knew was merciless.

Like a mad artist, Aaron had settled in an old apartment in Paris, he had paid for the first three months and the man with his more than pronounced French accent and his graying beard had watched him almost with suspicion. He had money, at least, enough to pay his rent, eat and pay for his studies. Aaron had sent sketches to a famous French fashion house, he hadn't had much hope and had waited in front of his computer for hours before sighing, they were never going to answer, why did he continue to think otherwise? However, a few hours later, while he was leaning over yet another sketch, he had heard the sound of an email coming into his computer. Aaron had almost jumped and nearly knocked over his cup of coffee, he had opened the email and felt his heart stop beating for a split second.

Mr. Hotchner,

In view of your more than obvious talent, we are offering you an internship in our workshops in Paris. I will have you escorted by a driver tomorrow morning, at nine thirty.

Remember to take your notebooks and your essentials and please be on time.

CHANEL.

He had spent almost two years in the workshops at Chanel where he had learned the rigor necessary to become a couturier worthy of the name. Between two "classes" as his mentor called him, he took the time to settle into a corner with his notebooks as well as his drawing kit that he continued to complete each week Aaron had discovered very interesting art stores even if rather expensive near the Beaux Arts

After two years in the Chanel workshops, he then went as an intern at Louis Vuitton where he had inspected the famous trunks with precision, the know-how of the house was no longer to be proven In all, he had spent exactly five years in Paris where he had attended fashion week with enthusiasm, thanks to "VIP" badges, he had shaken hands with emblematic figures of fashion, he had also rubbed shoulders with the very private circle of the ultra-rich where we chatted around caviar, champagne while wearing a dress that cost two years of average salary

It was when he was thirty that Aaron Hotchner decided to launch his own label, but he was not content to simply be the designer, he had become the leader, he made every decision. ARES had become an iconic brand of American fashion, on a par with Oscar de la Renta or Rick Owens.

He was comfortably seated in his living room, a luxurious apartment in New York with a glass of champagne in his hand. He was dressed of course in his own brand, a two-piece suit. It could almost have been basic but all his art was in the details, the sleeves of the suit were delicately decorated with blue and red snakes. The precious stones sparkled under the light of his living room. ARES was a brand, but it was also the innovative genius of Aaron Hotchner who pushed the boundaries of fashion again and again. The ovations at his shows made the headlines of the world press. Luxurious men's suits, exclusive collaborations with high-end jewelry houses, and a special Halloween capsule collection for children that had made headlines on social media. A subtle blend of elegance with a modern touch, a touch of madness according to some. Everyone wanted to be dressed by Aaron Hotchner.

Aaron continued to drink his glass of champagne while scrolling through ARES's Instagram page. Maybe it was time to start designing the next collection, he might have an idea, crazy but an idea. Why would he deprive himself of sending an email to Disney to see if they wanted to do a collaboration? Aaron knew he could make unique pieces that were on par with some masterpieces, young adults from the jet set would jump on the eight hundred dollar sweatshirts.

[sunder-soul]

𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖛𝖊

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

Chapter One: There's just something about those Riddle murders that doesn't quite make sense... Wordcount: 2.3k Content warning: language, allusions to bigotry.

Permanent Taglist: @jujugentle @weirdowithnobeardo @pearlstiare @fromthehellmouth @whoevenfrickenknows @moatsnow @voidmalfoy @lucys-brain @sunles @arana-alpha @tallyovie @expectoscamander @nothinghcppens @itsjustfics @mikariell95 @suicide-sweetheart636 @toasterking

Name: MORFIN GORMLAITH GAUNT

Age: 46

Wand: fir, 10 ¾ inches, dragon heartstring

Residence: Gaunt Estate, Little Hangleton, Yorkshire

Marital status: -

Offense charge: three counts of murder in the primary degree

Date of charged offense: 1st July, 1943

Offense Detail: prisoner entered the residence of the Riddle family (Muggle, IM-00) and inflicting the Killing Curse (UC-001-1717) upon the three members of the Riddle family present; Thomas Riddle (63), Mary Riddle (60), and their son Tom Riddle (37). Use of the Killing Curse has been confirmed by Prior Incantato (see report DMLE-619-1951-BLE, SA: Robert Odgen).

Date of Testimony: 3rd July, 1943

Prisoner plea: guilty

Sentence: Azkaban, 360 years

Date of Sentence: 3rd July, 1943

You frown.

It’s very late, the candle your desk is barely a stub, the little flame hovering nervously on the surface of a broad pool of wax, and you’ve been copying over these stupid reports to the new, tamper-proof parchment forms for seven hours now – but something is extremely odd about these dates.

“McCollin,” you say slowly. “Did you work this case?”

“Hmm?” McCollin doesn’t look up at the desk beside you, head resting heavily on one hand and his spine curled into a perfect and truly concerning C-shape over his own stack of files. He looks close to passing out right there and then, salt-and-pepper hair a little greasy, scruffy five o’clock shadow, eyes bleary and shadowed.

“Gaunt,” you read, “1943. You were working with Odgen then, right?”

He snorts. “Yeah, I remember that nutter.”

“What happened?”

“Guy was from one of those ancient pure-blooded clans, you know, one of the real fanatical ones, inbreeding and liquidated assets and all,” McCollin yawns, dragging his hand down his face and smearing ink across his whiskered cheek. “Hated Muggles like nobody’s business."

“Yeah he killed three Muggles, right?” you peer at the report.

McCollin nods at the form he's copying. “Went off the deep end one day. Walked right up to their house and murdered ‘em. When they brought him in he was ranting and raving about how they’d had it coming for years.”

“He was arrested, charged, and sentenced within three days,” you say slowly.

He finally looks up at you. “So?”

“That’s the fasted processing I’ve ever seen.”

“The guy admitted to it, kiddo,” McCollin says in deadpan, “he had snakes nailed to his door and his family tree was basically a Christmas wreath.”

“Yeah, but… what made he snap?”

He laughs again, shaking his head despondently as he returns to his form. “You got a lot to learn.”

His tone wants to be fond but it just strikes you as patronising, especially considering the amount of times people have said that exact same stupid line to you. It’s like half the bloody department think being Muggle-born makes you incapable of understanding the subtle and unique intricacies of wizarding culture – as if bigotry and supremacists and assholes are exclusive to the magical world. “What?” you say a little too defensively.

“Families like that… guys like that… they’re not right in the head. Hate Muggles just to hate ‘em, reckon they’re all that’s wrong with the world. Honestly it’s a miracle he didn’t do it sooner.”

You look back down at the report, suspicions anything but assuaged. “Yeah,” you say quietly, “it is.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Did you ever watch Gaunt’s testimony?”

“You’re still going on about that?” McCollin drawls, heaving the towering box of finished files up a bit as he heads for the lifts.

“I looked him up in Records and the memory’s only available with supervisor permission,” you push, following him quickly. “If you signed me off then I could get Owler to –”

He slams the button and stares at the little golden arrow above the elevator grate slowly sliding towards the basement floor. “And why in Merlin’s name do you want to watch the Gaunt trial?”

You slip your hands into the pockets of your purple Ministry robes. “I’m interested.”

“Interested,” he echoes, shooting you a look. “Is that so?”

“He was processed in three days, McCollin. If it was that obvious he was guilty, it must have been one hell of a trial.”

“It was,” he scoffs as the lift dings and the grate grinds to a noisy open. “Fine, but only if you finish Johan’s quota by five.”

The triumph is impossible to keep off your face and McCollin rolls his eyes at your immediate glee. “I’m on it,” you grin, spinning around and racing back to your desk to get started.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Merlin’s beard,” McCollin mutters, shaking his head at the stack of completed transcripts. “I gotta hold stuff over your head more often.”

“Just sign the slip, McCollin,” you smirk.

He sighs and grabs the quill from your hand, and you hold your breath as he scribbles his initials on the slip. “You’re obsessed,” he drawls.

You seize the slip and round on the lift, heart racing with excitement. “I’m interested.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

The trial is absolutely insane.

Morfin Gaunt looks like a Witch Weekly cartoon caricature of a fanatical blood-purist and he rambles in a manic-edged, ceaseless torrent about how much he enjoyed murdering the Riddles as the Wizengamot mutters and blithers disapprovingly for about three hours – but something catches your attention right near the end. Something you can’t help but ask Owler about the second the memory ends and you’re thrown back into the Records Room.

“Who’s Merope?”

Owler’s sallow face looks about as thrilled at your question as he was at your request for the memory in the first place. “Merope Gaunt,” he says in a flat, nasally voice, waving his wand at the Pensieve and sending the memory swirling back into its phial.

“Merope Gaunt?”

Owler’s thin, anaemic lips downturn even more. “His sister.”

You stare at him. It is not at all what you’d expected. “And why did he call his sister a mud-soused, scumsucking slut?”

“Ask your supervisor.”

“He seemed to be saying he killed those people because of Merope, why on earth would his sister be why he –”

“I keep the records, I don’t conduct the investigations,” Owler interrupts with not inconsiderable disdain. “Now if you could please –”

“Did they bring Merope in for testimony?”

Owler gives your continuing presence a very dirty look. “No.”

“Why not?”

He pushes the door to the Records room open and stares at you.

You try to hold your ground but Owler is unrelenting, and you're forced to step past him with a curt sigh. “Right, well, good afternoon, Owler, thanks for –”

The door slams shut behind you.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“Get what you wanted?” McCollin smirks as you collapse stony-faced into your chair.

“I forgot how impressively unpleasant it is to talk to Owler,” you mutter, resting your head in your hands. “Did you know about Merope?”

“Merope?”

“Yeah, Morfin’s sister.”

“Didn’t know he had one,” McCollin says disinterestedly.

“He was saying some stuff that made it sound like she’s why he killed those Muggles.”

“Uh huh.”

You lift your head, giving him an incredulous look. “He said she’s why he murdered three people, McCollin. How does that not interest you?”

McCollin throws down his quill and sighs sharply. “Look kiddo, the guy’s rotting in Azkaban, he admitted to the murders, they found the curses in his wand, and he had a memory of the whole thing. What exactly are you hoping to achieve here?”

You can barely believe it. “Why isn’t Merope Gaunt mentioned in any of his trial documents?” you say sharply.

“Either she wasn't relevant to the proceedings, or she's dead, or he made her up,” McCollin shrugs, “like I said, the guy went off the deep end.”

“But why doesn’t it say –”

“Just drop it,” he sighs impatiently, “you have work to do, and I won’t have you wasting clocked time on some case from nearly a decade ago.”

“Come on, McCollin, can’t you admit that it’s weird that –”

“I said drop it,” he says sharply, “don’t make me be the big mean supervisor here, you know I hate it.”

You glare at him. “Fine,” you say through gritted teeth.

It’s almost too easy to pull Morfin’s old file from where it’s still sitting in the refuse pile and subtly charm a copy of it that evening.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

Merope Gaunt, as far as you can tell, fucking vanished off the face of the earth in 1925.

There’s nothing, no addresses, no marriage or death notice, no registered Floo connections, no DRC calls for gnomes or doxies or even the odd kappa, not a single trace of her after Morfin and their father Marvolo had a stint in Azkaban for assaulting Bob Odgen back in the 20s.

It seems like the second they were locked up, she scarpered.

You sit back in the Archives Hall and let out a long breath, flipping the folder shut dejectedly. Morfin’s file is a thick wad of anti-Muggle hate crimes rivalled only by his father’s, and closer inspection had revealed that the Gaunt family estate sat a cool twenty minutes' walk from Riddle House where the murders had occurred. If Morfin had lived so close to some of the Muggles he hated so much, he’d been sitting on a clear motive for murder for years.

So why suddenly snap?

What had pushed him over the edge?

Why did he cite Merope in his deranged testimony?

Why talk about her in that way?

Where the hell did she go?

There are endless questions and zero answers. Plus, you kind of get the feeling that if McCollin saw you hunched in the Archives after-hours trying to find those answers, you’d get your pay docked.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

That night, you sit bolt upright in bed with a surge of electric realisation.

Mud-soused… scumsucker…

You’ve heard that language before. You’ve processed about four hundred case files of harassment with that language.

“Idiot,” you breathe, smacking your forehead and falling back onto your pillows with a thump. “Idiot, of course…”

Because that’s the way Pure-blood extremists talk about witches and wizards who've fallen in love with Muggles.

Suddenly, you have a pretty good idea where Merope might have disappeared to the moment her blood-obsessed brother and father were out of the picture, and a pretty good idea of where you might be able to look to find her. Because you’ve been looking in the wrong place.

You’ve been looking for her in the wizarding world.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

“I have the craziest news for you,” you grin, slamming a silver Sickle on the counter and taking your seat at the bar.

“You say that twice a month,” Mori grumbles, setting your drink down and sliding the coin into his huge, calloused hand.

“It’s true twice a month.”

“It’s true half as much as you think.”

“I found her.”

Mori’s dark brows raise. It makes his gruff face look slightly less intimidating. “The lady from that old case you're into?”

“Yeah,” you beam, seizing your drink and leaning forward. “Started going through marriage certificates, and –”

“You’re telling me that your big-shot Ministry intern arse has been working this thing for a month and you didn’t even check marriage certificates?”

“Not Muggle ones,” you smirk.

Mori takes a glass off the bar and starts to clean it as he peers at you. “Go on.”

“She married the same guy her brother murdered, Mori,” you breathe, glancing around to make sure none of the shady denizens of Moribund’s are listening – it’s not like the bar's regular patrons are so welcoming to your big-shot Ministry intern arse on the best of days considering you’re half-way down Knockturn Alley in the dead of night. “They fucking ran away together!”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Mori mutters.

“Exactly!”

“What are you going to do about it?”

You shrug, taking a sip of your drink and feeling supremely pleased with yourself.

“What, you spent that much time investigating this thing for no reason?”

“Nah,” you say quietly, lips still in a smile. “I have a feeling there’s more to it than this. I still have to find out what happened to her after they got married and her brother murdered his new in-laws.”

“And what’s this guy’s name again?”

You give him a dry look. “You know I can’t tell you names, Mori, I’m pushing the bounds of my contract telling you this much already.”

He shrugs his massive shoulders, casting a wary look around the dark bar. “If you’re looking for people who might know a thing or two about murderers and Muggle-haters, you’ve come to the right place.”

“I’m here to talk to you, Mori, not the murderers and Muggle-haters.”

“You’re here to drink cheap and rant to someone who won’t rat you out to your boss,” he growls.

You give him another grin. “Cheers to that.”

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

You find Merope’s name in a record tome of an old church parish almost by accident. There’s barely any information there, just one name on a huge list of those buried in the pauper’s graveyard less than ten blocks from where you’re sat amongst the looming shelves of the Muggle public archives at that exact moment.

But there is something.

It says she died in a place called 'Wool’s Orphanage' on New Year’s Eve in 1926. It’s not hard to guess why she might have been there, and how she probably died.

Merope Gaunt had a child.

☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★

❶·❷·❸·❹·❺·❻

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[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 06

Pairings: Sirius Black x [F]Reader, Remus Lupin x [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors, music snob!Remus,  Author’s notes: song used: Come Together by The Beatles

BTW: I always try to use little to no physical descriptions for the reader insert but I did add that the reader has some sort of hair. I didn't mention hair texture or length (Sorry if ur bald). My taller readers, I only mentioned that you were shorter than Remus (no height was given)

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6: ABBA vs. The Beatles 

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

“Merlin’s beard! Binns is a sadist; torturing students must be his only pastime,” James yawned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes.

Nothing could ever compare to the History of Magic. Today, lessons were dreadful and muddy. Professor Binns’ monotone voice filtered throughout the class, rambling on and on about various dates in history. Hardly anyone paid attention before he started calling on students. Annoyed, Binns would continue to reiterate his inquiry until the student(s) got the correct answer, no matter how long it took.

A sadist indeed.

Although Binns wasn’t the sole reason why the class was pathetic, but rather the lack of any practical work was simply a joke. The class only reminded Y/N of her short time in public school. Geometry? Utterly useless for any daily life interactions. To make matters worse, Binns surprised the class with a pop-quiz and two chapters of reading. Luckily, he had an ounce of mercy in his ghostly body and dismissed the class early for lunch.

James continued, “I would rather fight a dragon than — Woah! Your hair! “

She glanced to look at herself through the reflection in James’ glasses. Her hair, which originally was emerald green, was now turning into a golden yellow. The different colours clashed together boldly.

“You look like the banner for the Holyhead Harpies,” Peter said, striding up to James’ side.

“The Holyhead Harpies,” James said dreamily, “They’re probably one of my favourite teams.

Remus, who had been trailing behind Peter jumps in, “You only like them because they’re all women, you wanker.” He turns to Peter, his hand shooting up to the side of his head, massaging small circles into his temples, “Why’d you get him going?”

James became insufferable whenever someone or something mentioned Quidditch. Not only would he boast about his abilities as a Chaser, but he seemingly was a never-ending encyclopedia about Quidditch. It only worsened as November neared, the start of the new Quidditch season was approaching.

One time Y/N found herself stuck listening to him babble about Ireland winning the world cup for about thirty minutes. She didn’t have the heart to stop him, though. Nobody listened to his rants and he could hardly contain his excitement. How could she tell him she wasn’t interested?    

A monstrous smirk etched its way onto his face, “Caught me.”

“Be anymore of a predator would ya, Prongs?”

“Hey! That’s not the only reason why I like them. Did you forget their victory in 1953 against the Heidelberg Harriers? Their strategy was blood-fucking-brilliant. They’re legendary! My father was there to see it in person. Lucky bastard. He told me…”

His voice fades into the background as Y/N catches Remus’ eyes. A glint of mischief shined through them before he forced a fake pitiful smile. He mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to her before looping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, discreetly leaving James’ side and out of the classroom.

That sly, slippery bastard.  

"— and did I mention that their seeker was one of the most sought out —”

“Wait, James.”

He abruptly pauses, waiting patiently for her to continue. She leads them out into the corridor and towards the great hall. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off like that, but when is my hair going back to normal?”

Y/N instantly regretted mentioning her hair. There was no trace of a smile on James. His shoulders slumped a bit and his walking even staggered. “Godric, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I thought it would have returned back to normal by now. I’ve been creating reversal spells — even started asking Moony to help.”

“Moony?”

“Remus.”

“Another one of your nicknames?”

“It’s not a nickname! It’s a brotherhood — a pack!”

“Oh, sorry Prongs,” she drawled, a sarcastic smile on her face, “If I didn’t know you I would assume you were an asshole.”

“What? How?!”

“You go around calling yourself a marauder, the king of Quidditch and now Prongs. Seems pretty assholely.”

James’ mouth opens before closing again, repeating the process several times.

“Plus, you pull silly pranks every day.”

He chuckles, “Oi! You helped us with that itching idea!”

Her eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, “Touché.”

To this, James shakes his head, directing the conversation back to the Holyhead Harpies. Inwardly, Y/N wanted to whack him with a broomstick.

They were among the first students to reach the Great Hall, aside from students who had a free or were excused early by Professor Binns. None of the girls were there yet. Unfortunately, Marlene was held back by Binns, so Y/N was left to sit beside James who sat opposite to Remus, Peter and Sirius.

She had been trying her best to avoid Sirius whenever she could. It was clear he didn’t like her. He never laughed whenever she made a joke, he hardly noticed her, he never praised her, even if she tried to compliment him. He was just rude for no apparent reason. The rest of the marauders and girls knew this, although they preferred not to comment about the obvious, strained relationship (which they didn’t even know the reason for. Granted, Y/N wasn't quite sure herself. Was it the rejection, he just didn't like her or is just an ass?).

Although, ignoring and avoiding him proved to be extremely challenging. Y/N was glued to Lily’s hip ever since the Sorting Ceremony. It also didn’t help that if you were with one marauder, another one was sure to follow. She and James started to spend more time with each other, and by extension, she was obligated to be around at least one other marauder. With the addition of study sessions with Remus, it was inevitable.

Surprisingly, Sirius hadn’t made any snarky remarks, excluding dirty looks, he was being… nice — nicer to her. The action was a stark contrast from his previous behaviour and she speculated a few reasons why:

Most likely, James or Lily, she assumed the former, said something to him. Since his little spat with James at breakfast a few weeks ago, Sirius was tight-lipped ever since.

Maybe he was done being a prick, deciding to stop by himself after realizing he was a prick.

Went through something personal, it stopped, and his behaviour improved.

Minutes after the bell rang, students began to trickle in for lunch. The comfortable chatter rose as Y/N finished eating an apple. Everyone seemed pleased when James’ Quidditch lecture was interrupted as hundreds of owls streamed in, packages and letters dropping into the laps of students. She hadn’t expected anything considering her owl, Celeste, didn’t drop anything off since the first week of October. However, today she fluttered down between the bread and fruit bowls, dropping off several letters and a small parcel onto Y/N’s plate, pecking at the bread crumbs on the table. She tore the letter open, inside it said:

Dear Y/N,  

Are you still having a hard time with Charms? If so, perhaps I find some textbooks and send them over.  

Don’t slack off this year. Send me a letter whenever you have the chance. (Make sure to tell Celeste to be quieter next time. You know I can, and never will get used to the owls.)  

Mom  

Her mother finally wrote to her. A sense of joy flooded her body as she placed the letter back down on the oak table. A part of her wondered if Celeste was dropping off her letters to the wrong house, the one back in Toronto as her mother never wrote back. She opened the next letter, immediately recognizing the messy scrawl:

October 19, 1975  

Y/N! I thought you replaced me with one of your brits, but a false alarm, your letters just take a while to arrive. Must be tiring for Celeste to travel to and from Scotland then America and back. You know, whenever people see her fly in, they still recognize her.  

Are you doing anything for Halloween? We’re throwing another dance. Going to be alone this year now that I can’t force you to come. I guess I’ll just watch half the school dry hump each other while I smuggle in firewhiskey.

How’s it going over there? I heard from a few students, even read in the papers about the war. It’s getting pretty crazy over here. Teachers have been meeting and trying to prevent students and parents from losing their shit. My mom has been worried too, writing to me like a lunatic and I’m not even in the UK. The MACUSA have been keeping quiet but they were caught having meetings with counsellors from the Ministry of Magic. Even heard that Jenkins is stepping down. If it keeps getting out of hand here, I can’t imagine what it must be like at Hogwarts. I truly thought the war was dying down, I was wrong. Keep your wand close. Surely, you’ll get away with a hex or two.

Until next time

Matthew G.  

So engrossed in her new environment, her old life slipped to the back of her mind. There was a detachment from her reality compared to the one at home. A pang of guilt hit her, swallowing her up from the inside out until another pang hit, loneliness. If she easily forgot everyone, would anyone remember her? None of her old friends, apart from Matthew, had made a move to contact her since she left.

Often thinking about writing them first, she had to remind herself if they wanted to, they would. Especially with the knowledge that people still recognized Celeste.

Was she forgettable and if so, was it karma for forgetting too?

It put a mechanical vice grip on her heart, applying just enough pressure to be a constant reminder. With every beat, it tightened more and more.

Looking around the table, she saw her peers huddle in groups, familiar laughter ringing throughout. So noisy, so taunting. She may have been friends with Lily, Dorcas, James or even Marlene, but they had their own friends. Friendships that had years to develop before she came. She had only known them for less than two months.

Forgettable.

How hilarious, she thought.

“Hey,” a gentle voice cooed into her ear, “Are you okay?”

She hummed back absentmindedly.

James wore a concerned expression, his eyes knitted together, one raised higher than the other like it always does when he was worried. The look he shot her suggested he wasn’t convinced, although he didn’t press; instead opting to stir the conversation. “So, who wrote to you?”

“A friend and my mom —”

A snort so loud that it caused the rest of the marauders, random onlookers and even Lily (who had a look of pure disgust on her face) turned towards them. “What did you say?”

“I got a few letters?”

“No!” He bellowed, “Who sent you them?”

“My friend and my mom —”

Nearly choking on his sandwich, James clutched his stomach laughing. Laughing so hard he has to grip the table to prevent falling off the hall bench. "Haha! Mom?! MOM?” He mocked in a poor American accent, “What the fuck is mom? It’s MUM. Bollocks!”

“We say vitamin.”

“It’s VIT-A-MIN! Who says VIGHT-A-MIN?” Without a pause, James presses his entire body onto her shoulder, smushing her before grabbing the letter her mother sent her. His eyes scanned across the pages before hitting a certain word. “Back home? Maple trees? Where did you use to live exactly?”

“Canada.”

“Canada?! You don’t mean those snowy gits?” At this, Peter and Remus snort under their breaths. Even Lily had to force down a smile.

Staring deadpanned at him, in an unamused voice, “Really?”

“You are a bundle of surprises! I thought you lived… I’m not sure. I assumed somewhere like New Hork.”

“York,” Lily corrects.

“Tomato, tomato,” he jokes, playfully batting his eyes at Lily before biting into his sandwich, “You do live in London, right?”

“Right.”

James takes a moment, letting the conversation die down before he quickly glances at Y/N again. An undecipherable expression crosses his face before it’s promptly replaced with elation, “I take back anything negative I’ve said about Canada. They have an amazing Quidditch rooster. Have you gone to any of their games?”

A low grumble of sighs follows at the mention of Quidditch from James. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus shake his head and sighed dejectedly.

“Nah, I’m a New-Maj, remember? My mom — “

“Mum —”

“ — sorry, Mum — hardly understands the wizarding world, let alone what Quidditch is.”

His eyes were wide, whimsical, as a hand flew to his chest dramatically, “Rubbish! Bloody ridiculous! You’ve never seen a real Quidditch game? One day, I swear I’ll bring you to one! Or you can bring me to Canada one day and we can watch a home game!”

As James continued to rant, Y/N’s mind slowly drifted back to the bitterness in her chest. Trying to distract herself, she borrowed Lily’s quill and a few sheets of parchment, scribbling down letters in response.

Mom,  

I’m fine with Charms, you don’t need to send anything. And don’t worry, I’ve been studying for my OWLs.  

Love you, write soon.

The next letter was addressed to Matthew:

Matty Matt,

Of course, I didn’t replace you… yet. 

Another dance? You would think the students’ protest last year would have influenced the professors this time. I guess it’s time for you to get wasted. I didn’t tell you last time but I think I’m going to a party. A friend of mine is throwing it and I know he’s going to force me to come no matter what. He briefly mentioned costumes and drinks. Plus, there’s going to be some kind of prank that I may or may have not been a part of? Sounds cool right?  

Yeah, I’d say it’s been bad up here. I don’t know much about what's going on outside of school, though. The professors are hiding it well. I didn’t even hear about Jenkins stepping down. Keep me updated.  

Until next time  

She sealed the letters before sending Celeste off again, “Be quieter when you drop off the letters, yeah?”

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

It must be her lucky day.

The ringing of the bell went off, signalling the end of class. Professor Flitwick asked the students to stay behind so he could hand out quizzes the students completed on Monday in preparation for their upcoming test on Growth and Reductor charms the following Tuesday.

It was never a good sign when a professor flips your test over to prevent other students from seeing their mark. Flipping it over at a downwards angle, Flitwick handed Y/N her quiz.

Turning it over nervously, a tight coil formed in the pit of her stomach. A large P was plastered on the top right corner in bold red ink. She studied hard for this too. Angrily, she shoved her work into her bag and left the class. This was the third poor she'd gotten in a row. She should have told her mother she needed those Charm books.

“I swear I’m going mad! Her brother is a complete cow! He even — are you listening?”

She looks at the girl beside her, Marlene. Her glossed over, doe eyes must have served as an answer before the blonde shook her head.

“Sorry, distracted,” she mumbles, before forcing out a fake-happy tone, “Continue your story! I wanna hear!”

“Hey,” Marlene says in a softer voice, “If something’s bothering you, you can talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” she replies instinctively. She felt bad spacing out during Marlene’s story but her mind was running through and under hoops. The last thing any fifth year student needed was to fall behind in their classes, let alone feeling like nobody cared about them.

At that moment, she wished she was wrapped away in red and gold blankets to wallow in her self-pity party, away from prying eyes. She could feel the burning sensations of tears building up.

Dammit.

Y/N looked out the window to her left. The sky was melting with the warm hues of reds and yellows while the other half was being slowly engulfed into a cloak of twilight. Even from here, she could feel the cool air seeping in from the windows making her tug on the sleeves of her robes.

She continued, “I’m just tired — been a long day. I’m going to take a nap before dinner. See you.”

Judging by the look on Marlene and Lily’s face, guilt riddles her body. They both look sympathetic. The pity only made Y/N feel disgusting. In all honesty, Y/N will care later. Right now wasn’t the time and she desperately needed some shut-eye.

Before she left the room, she overheard them talking.

“What’s up with her?”

“Dunno.”

Great.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Sleep did little to ease her thoughts.

The same uneasiness she felt on the train ride to Hogwarts settled deep into her bones again. She thought she was past this. The worrying about friends, missing home, feeling alone, failing class, stressing about her future. The rational part of her brain knew it was just one silly quiz (and old shitty friends), but knowing herself, if she were to continue to have this mindset, she would only fail in the end.

Dinner ended and Y/N belligerently climbed up the stairs towards the library to attend today’s study session. The Charms quiz threw her into a loop and it was better not to dwell on it, opting to rather use her time for something useful.

Her marks improved significantly since she attended her first session two weeks ago. The last couple of assignments and quizzes she handed in that she worked on during the groups were some of her best work, ever. Additionally, her ability to retain information was improving at astonishing rates and she found herself participating in lessons more often. Unfortunately, she started to doubt her abilities again.

There weren’t as many students as usual. Perhaps it was because of the Quidditch meeting for all teams tonight, or because nobody wanted to spend their time in a library Friday night. She assumed it was the latter.

Although, the same student with black hair from Slytherin was there; tucked away in his usual corner. He was always there. Whether it was the study sessions, another OWL or NEWT student or he simply just enjoyed the library, Y/N could always rely on him sitting there in his little nook.

In the far back, surrounded by tall bookshelves sat Remus. Another student, a first or second year, judging by their height, seemed to be asking him a question, rapidly writing down something on a piece of parchment whilst they walked away. Remus leaned back in the brown chair, his right leg was folded over the other as he stretched.

She spent over twelve hours minimum with Remus directly since the first session, minus the time he was around James and the girls. Perhaps she only started to notice afterwards but she swore Remus wasn’t around this much before. Now, he was everywhere.

In the past couple of weeks she’d gotten to know him, she made a mental list in her head of him:

1. Remus loves sweaters. They weren’t flashy, seemingly preferring to wear ones with small designs, stripes or a solid colour. He wore green the most. He also wore cardigans. Two, in particular, he wore the most; one was white and the other was a muted brown. They were big and hung off his loose frame, the pockets were often stuffed with books, rumpled parchment and his wand.

2. He’s a coffee addict. He drank it in the morning, the afternoon, at the study session and sometimes with meals at dinner. He loved to dump pounds of sugar, so if he only drank black coffee, it usually meant he was in a bad mood. James even joked that he became Sirius whenever he drank black coffee, because haha! Get it? It’s BLACK coffee!

3. He frequented the library whenever he wasn’t with the rest of the marauders. He enjoyed poetry, wrote post-it notes after post-it notes to annotate his favourite parts. He even slept there from time to time, not without having to persuade Pince to not give him detention.

As if Remus magically sensed her, he took a large inhale before he stopped stretching, opening his eyes to look at her. A small smile was plastered on each other’s faces. He stuck up a few fingers to wave at her, motioning her to come over.

“Hi Y/N. I thought you didn’t come on Fridays?”

“I don’t but I have a test, Charms, Tuesday.”

“Oh, well I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks for the offer, Professor Lupin, but just being down here will help me focus.”

A scarlet blush settled on his face at the mention of his tutoring. “Well come sit with me then.”

Pushing the chair out of the way, she sat down beside him, pulling out her cassette player and earbuds along with her notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus staring at the player curiously.

“Do you want to listen?”

“If you don't mind. I didn’t know you could use these here.” Picking it up, he turned the rectangular device.

“If record players work here, why not this?”

She hands him an earbud, alongside a small collection of other tapes she had on hand.

“Choose whatever you want to listen to.”

Without much thought, he pressed the play button. The upbeat tune of Waterloo by ABBA trickled into their ears. Y/N bobbed her head up and down before the song was suddenly stopped.

A sour grimace sat on Remus’ face before their eyes met, his nose upturned slightly.

“Why’d you stop it?”

“I hate ABBA.”

“What!?”

“I just don’t like their cheesy disco-pop-esk sound. They sound generic and random words are thrown in when they don’t add to the song.”

“Jeez— never met anyone who hated them that much.”

A ghost of a smile appeared before he flicked through her collection of tapes. He picked up Abbey Road by The Beatles. Opening the player up, he slid out Waterloo. With a click and the press of a button, Come Together played.

“So you hate ABBA but not The Beatles? Benny and Bjorn said they were influenced by them!”

“Keyword: Influenced; which is just another word for a shitty knock-off version.”  

4. Remus Lupin is apparently a music snob.

“Well, I think both are good.”

“Respectfully, I disagree with you.”

“Whatever you say, professor.”  

"I've been thinking a bit, why did you come to Hogwarts? Why not just stay at your old school?"

The sudden switch of topics threw her into a loop. “Wasn’t by choice. My mom’s a doctor and got a position here. It was too good to turn down. But it’s not bad. There’s less wizarding laws.”

He nods his head, "I'm assuming you have dual citizenship?"

"Mhm."

About a half an hour passed as she sighed for the umpteenth time before putting down her quill. Her chair scraped back noisily as Y/N’s hand balled up into a tight fist, feeling her fingernails bite into her palm. She’d been flicking through her notes, the words all blended.

At this rate, if History of Magic didn’t exist, Charms would surely be her least favourite class.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

She was at a loss, this was the third time Remus had offered to help and he was persistent. She felt horrible that she was taking up his time to help her on a stupid Charms test.

He continued, “If you think bothering me is an issue, it’s not. I run the sessions on Friday. It’s my job.”

“Fine, but there has to be something I can do in return.”

“Hmm,” Remus pondered for a second, “How about this, I tutor you in Charms and in return you give me your Potions notes? I'm dreadful at it.”

“Deal.”

“Great. Before we start, is there anything in particular that you have questions on?”

Silently tapping on the quiz she received today, Remus snatched it and quickly scanned over her answers and Professor Flitwick’s notes.

“I see what happened. You know, the curriculum taught at Ilvermorny is different. That’s probably why you can’t understand some of this shit.” He cleared his throat, “So as we know, the growth charm increases the size of your intended target…”

His voice, like a light switch, changed instantly. Instead of his softer deep, raspier voice, it became commanding and steady. He never stumbled over his words and articulated his points elegantly. She found herself enraptured by him, understanding why he was in charge of the study groups.

Eventually, Remus takes a pause, “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. You know, you’re really good at this. No matter how much I asked Flitwick or even Lily I could never get it.”

A large blush bloomed on the apples of his cheeks before he shyly rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I’m not that good.”

“No time for modesty, Professor Lupin!”

“Okay, okay! So here, do you see what went wrong? There would be a reaction with those two spells if —”

A boy, small, most likely a second year, stood at the foot of the shared table holding a large red and gold book. His hair, dark ginger, similar to Lily’s, was cut short. He fiddled with his fingers as he continued to stare at the two.

“... Um, hi. You're Remus — right?”

“Yup. Did you need help with something?”

“Yes! I’m having trouble with the Transfiguration spell, beetle into button.”

A look of understanding passed through his face before Remus turns to look at her, “Duty calls. It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, take your time.”

It was not quick. Understandably, very few were successful at the ginger’s age to perform the spell, but thirty minutes passed and the second year still didn’t understand the basic concepts. No matter how many times Remus had reiterated his point differently, the boy couldn’t retain it.

“I just don’t get it.”

“You learned this last year, it's a quick revision. I’m not sure what part you’re talking about. Look, do not wiggle or twirl your wand left, direct it towards the right. You have to picture the spell in your head before saying the incantation.”

He guided the boy's hand steadily before performing the spell himself.

“I don’t understand!” The boy whined.

He sighed, “Then we keep trying —”

“It’s too hard. Why are they teaching this crap anyway?”

“Could you stop complaining?” He snapped, closing his eyes before he realized what he’d just done. “I’m sorry about that. I��m… just tired. I can’t help you anymore, though. You should ask someone else,” Remus said brusquely, his eyes unnerving as he stared at the child. As a result, he yelped out a ‘thank you,’ rushing off in the opposite direction.

The muscles in his jaw tensed under the soft glow of the table lamps. There was a pale red tint rimming his eyes and he looked visibly paler than normal. Irritated, he bounced his knee rapidly, up and down, before looking out the large window beside them. The sky was mostly cloudy. Only the peak of the silvery moon appeared. A sliver was missing before it was fully complete.

He closed his eyes, before breathing in. His posture once stiffened, completely relaxed before a flimsy smile reappeared on his face, returning his attention to Y/N.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

“If you’re tired we can stop.”

“No, s’okay. I’m fine — really.��

She chewed the inside of her cheek, adding to her list:

5. Remus was always so hard to read.

[burnedbyshoto]

disconnected

— Kirishima answers a phone call that wasn’t intended for him, and of course he can’t help but be interested in the beautiful voice and soul that angrily began to rant about their day. —

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pairing: kirishima eijirou x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, lil angst (lol sorry), cursing

word count: 7,786

a/n: this was a stupid thought that slammed into my mind, and here it is!!!! now I have a calc midterm tomorrow that I did not look at because why think about double derivatives and integrals when I can think about kirishima????

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

It was eleven at night when Kirishima strolled out of his bathroom, ready to go to bed. After a rather long day, he was looking forward to sleeping and not having to wake up at the crack of dawn. Tomorrow for the very first day in a very long time, he wouldn’t have to work at the local coffee shop he was hired at. It was a job he had acquired with his good friends on the promise of it being a manageable job on top of his college work, and of course, the pretty girls who would go in.

From what Kirishima had gathered from the four months working there was that there were a lot of pretty girls who entered the coffee shop — most of which were focused on the angry ash-blond friend of his — and that it was so unnecessarily stressful. 

Some days he was up at four in the morning to open at six for the morning regulars, then he’d go to his afternoon classes, only to return for a two-hour shift in the middle of rush hour, and would leave while trying to keep the peace between a certain ash-blond and two new hires. To say the least, it was hell on Earth at times. 

Regardless, he didn’t have to open tomorrow morning, so he was content! On top of not having classes tomorrow, Kirishima was excited to sleep in.

Falling on his bed with a massive sigh, Kirishima snuggled his face into his pillow, rejoicing in the way that the laundry detergent still clung to the fabric and relaxed.

Sleep sounded so—

RIIING.

RIIING.

Kirishima’s eyes slammed open, his head snapping to see his illuminating phone on his nightstand. He had no idea who the hell was calling this late. There was no way it was Bakugou; he was asleep already at this point. Sero had broken his phone two days ago during a failed stunt and wouldn’t be able to get a new phone until the weekend. Kaminari only called him when there was a bug in his apartment, but he was currently closing… maybe it was Mina? Kirishima shook his head, no, he hadn’t spoken to Mina in ages.

Grabbing the phone, he didn’t bother to look at the caller ID and answered.

“Hello—?”

“Oh my god, I am fucking raging! You can’t believe what kind of fuckery I just went through tonight!” a voice shouted into the receiver, and Kirishima flinched a bit at the loud and angry voice. “So you know how I wasn’t supposed to work today, right? Because my coworker had sex with her ex-boyfriend like an idiot, and I owed her for covering my shift three months ago, but anyways irrelevant. I’m taking the order of this one group of adults. That’s right, A-D-U-L-T-S, adults! They are completely staring at my tits the entire time, and not my face. At first, I thought maybe you know, I had spilled something on my tits earlier, no. No! NOTHING! So I call them out on it, and they say something along the lines of ‘you could be a camgirl with that body, but like not in a sex sort of way’ I’m sorry, WHAT?! Like yes, continue sexually harassing your server who is a college student and therefore has no will to live, so will gladly beat your Gucci belt wearing ass into a bloody pulp! What they gonna do? Sue me? I have one dollar to my name, fucking take it, I don’t care, I’ll find another dollar in the sewer after I beat their asses up!

“But you know, I’m saying all this in my head because I’m broke and can’t afford to be fired from this place because the tips are hella good here. But they continue saying dumb shit, and then the obvious ringleader — I know he was the ring leader because his beard looks like it was the first picture printed on a new ink cartridge and his manspread was ten times wider than all of theirs — have the fucking audacity to slip his number while only tipping TEN DOLLARS ON A TWO HUNDRED DOLLAR TAB!!!!” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say, his jaw on his mattress, breathing having stopped while your voice wheezes from your lack of air. He makes a croaking noise, wanting to speak up and apologize for what had happened and for not being the person you thought it was, but it seemed that you weren’t over. “AND DON’T GET ME STARTED ON THAT FUCKING KAREN!!! ‘I didn’t like the way you looked at me so I won’t be tipping you tonight!’ yeah, well maybe if you didn’t order enough FOOD TO FEED AN ARMY AND KEPT SENDING IT BACK I WOULDN’T BE LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THAT!!!”

There was a pause, and Kirishima, while feeling entirely sorry for you, finally spoke, “Fuck, that sounds... horrible.”

“Damn right, it was horri— wait, who the fuck is this?” your voice squeaked, and Kirishima almost started to laugh at the difference in the tone your voice took. Once so loud, angry, and entirely ‘fuck the world,’ had changed into a meek and embarrassed voice.

“Um, this is Kirishima. Kirishima Eijiriou?”

“This isn’t Hagakure?” you moaned into the phone. “03-9082-2395? That isn’t this number?”

“2-2-9-5,” Kirishima repeated his own number back, a small smile overcame his features knowing that you had accidentally misdialed a number.

“Fuck my fat fingers,” you cursed, and Kirishima chuckled lightly at the mutterings that were poorly picked up. “Well, um, I am so sorry for calling you and dumping that unnecessary bullshit on you—”

“No, no,” Kirishima interrupted, rolling onto his back, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling. “It’s totally okay! You seem less stressed out now too, and it really isn’t a big deal!”

���You are very kind, Kirishima Eijirou,” you laugh, and Kirishima can’t help but imagine a figure curled up on a couch.

“Thank you!” he beamed, a hand threading through his hair, “um, but what happened with the Karen? And why were you typing in your friend’s phone number?”

“Do you really want to know?” you ask after a fit of bubbling laughter; it seemed that you were not at all convinced.

“I work at a coffee shop for one, so I totally understand the Karen situations! Secondly, all my contacts are on my phone, I don’t have a single one of them memorized!”

“Okay, okay, okay, I do not have this number memorized! Hagakure is my roommate, and she has a new number that she left posted on our fridge and because Mr. Sprinkles left in the middle of my rant, I called her to finish it!” you explain in what Kirishima could only consider being childlike glee. “And a coffee shop? Oof, Kirishima, you might have it just as bad as I do then.”

“Ever had a boiling cup of coffee thrown back at your face?”

“Shut. Up.”

“I wish I was joking!”

“The nastiest thing I’ve ever been put through is a highschool couple breaking up in the middle of the restaurant, and a bowl of cold soup and milkshake were thrown at me! And I had to work for another five hours!”

“That… that beat mine by a long shot…”

“Okay, but like, it was cold. If you hadn’t dodged, you’d be dead!”

As time passed Kirishima soon found himself sitting up on his bed, his back pressed against the headboard, a lamp on so that he wasn’t in the dark while he talked to you. Somehow conversation flowed so perfectly between the two of you, so smoothly, so naturally. You had extremely compelling energy and a pretty bright one at that as well. Your stories were exceedingly extravagant, most derailing into hundreds of side stories before making its way back to the main point, but he didn’t mind. Though there was no proof, he imagined that your arms were swinging around while you talked, a bright smile on your face, and lights shining in your eyes.

“So anyway, I had to beg my professor to let me remake this exam because, for some reason, my brain would not switch back to Japanese. I almost cried because I was only speaking in English, and I think because I am an amazing person, my professor let me do that!” you laughed after explaining an issue with being fluent in a third language. 

“My English skills deteriorated after leaving high school, I’m rather jealous you can speak three languages,” Kirishima admitted, his head falling back onto the cold wall. “My Japanese professors probably think my Japanese sucks too.”

“Just because I am amazing and can speak three languages doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it,” you laugh, obviously trying to make him feel better about himself.

“Mm, I don’t know, you’re painting yourself as a pretty perfect person,” Kirishima sighed. “Or you have an enormous ego…”

A loud scoff came from your end of the phone, and Kirishima waited for your verbal retaliation but was met with a moment of silence.

“Oh! Welcome home!” you called out, and Kirishima quickly put together that your roommate Hagakure was home. “Yeah, no, I’m talking to someone right now! ...who? Oh, um, a friend! ...no, I tried to call you when I got home but misdialed your number and got him instead! NO! You’re not going to get a pic of him! Wait, it’s what time?!”

Kirishima’s eyes fell over to his alarm clock and saw in the dim red light that it was 04:57. 

His jaw dropped.

“Well, um, Kirishima, it seems that our call is going to end,” you whisper into the phone, and Kirishima lets out a breathless chuckle, sudden sleepiness creeping into him. “It was pretty fun chatting with you stranger, thanks for putting up with that ranting in the beginning! Most normal people wouldn’t have picked up or let me rant like that!”

“It’s no problem,” Kirishima smiled softly, his fingers stretching out to turn off the light. He licked his lips, five hours on a phone call with an absolute stranger, and he didn’t have your name, and better yet, a part of him wanted to ask if it was okay to be friends. You were magnetic to him, and he wanted to know more about you, even if this was this weird modern and accidental penpal thing. “I didn’t have anything to do today, and you were fun talking to!”

“Aww, thank you!”

Silence.

Ask, he thought, his teeth biting down onto his bottom lip. Ask!

“Um, I know this is weird and all, but do you think I can keep your number?” you ask, your voice almost timid and meek.

Kirishima’s heart rate spikes at those words, he very much wanted that, but his mouth had a mind of its own it seemed. “Why?”

“Wha— well, I just had a lot of fun talking with you! It was fun, and I don’t know, you seem like a pretty chill guy!”

His fingers gripped his phone, a warmth spreading through him when he relaxed under his sheets. “On one condition.”

“Oof, if you’re going to ask to decide between Crimson Riot or All Might you’re going to be—”

“No, no,” Kirishima lets out a snort, his shoulders rolling while he imagines the curious look coming over your face. “I would like to know your name?”

“My name? Why would you want— HOLY SHIT! I never gave you—” there was a loud noise on your end of the call, and Kirishima heard you apologize profusely before returning in a hushed whisper. “Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t give you my name?!”

“No,” he laughed loudly, one that was pushed from his belly, spreading warmth through his body. “You never did, but I did learn every name of every person you’ve ever talked with!”

“God,” you groan, a small whine emitted from you. “I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry! Y/l/n y/n at your service!”

Y/l/n y/n, that’s a pretty name, he thought while imagining just what you could look like. 

“Well, goodnight y/l/n, I’ll save your number, and we’ll see if you still would like to be friends when you wake up?”

There was a small noise of agreement, “I’m like a drug, Kirishima, you’ll be back for more.”

“Okay, okay, goodnight…”

“Goodnight, sweet dreams!”

“Sweet dreams.”

Kirishima listened to the line ending, and he pulled his phone away from his ear and no sooner did he do that, a text came in at what he believed to be your number:

don’t let the bed bugs bite! 🕷😱‼️

He snorted and replied back before eventually letting sleep consume him.

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“You’ll never believe what just happened!” you squealed into the phone, and Kirishima laughed while wiping his sweaty face with a white towel. You had called thirty minutes earlier than usual and had caught him leaving the gym.

It had been a bit over two months since your misdial, and things with you had been going pretty well for strangers. The two of you didn’t talk every day, most weeks going by with just a single call, but they were always delightful talks. You worked most nights, and he most mornings, the two of you discovered. So most calls took place the night he didn’t have to work the following morning. 

“You got a customer who complained that there was too much salt in their meal that had no salt in it?” he asked, pulling a random story of something that had happened at his own coffee shop today. You let out an amused snort, a clear indicator that he was wrong, but found his guess to be amusing at the very least.

“No, but oddly enough, someone did ask for an insane amount of salt on their food and hated it!” you sang, clearly happy with how you found their distress to be funny.

“Close enough!” Kirishima laughed, but he was straight out of guesses, so he stopped. “So, what happened?”

“I tried coffee for the first time ever today!” you squealed loudly, and Kirishima cheered happily.

Through these two months, there were some hard facts that Kirishima had learned about you. One, you were living in the same city as him. Two, you worked at a semi-classy restaurant. Three, you had two roommates named Hagakure and Jirou. Four, you were twenty, just like him. And five, you were a child who only drank hot chocolate and tea because you were afraid of coffee.

~

“Caffeine is a drug you know,” you had snarkily teased him one night when he said he was going to make a cup of coffee. “Nice to know I’m friends with an addict!”

“If drugs were as amazing as coffee, I’d be an addict!”

“You know…” your voice whispered, your voice suddenly taking a guilty approach. “I’ve never actually tried coffee…”

“WHAT?!”

~

“Wow, look at you, becoming an old woman in front of my own eyes!” Kirishima chuckled, starting his walk back home. 

His fingers pushed the headphones to be more secure over his ears, hopeful that there it wouldn’t pick up too heavily on the wind of the outside world. 

“To be honest, it wasn’t that good, your taste buds are just tarnished from drinking that bitter crap all day!” you huff and he half imagined you turning your nose up.

“Okay, okay,” Kirishima laughed, a warmth flooding in his chest at the sounds of your muffled laughter. A visible indicator that you were also amused at this. “I hated coffee until I started working at a coffee shop, and that was because I needed to know my shit.”

“Wow, you only got that job while not being a coffee addict?” you tease. “Seems like a fake barista to me.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe, I know,” Kirishima stated his tone one of fake melancholy. “I’m so sorry for deceiving you, and honestly, I am a shit barista.”

“Aww, don’t say that!” you exclaim, and it seems like you’re ready to fight him. “I bet you put all those fancy TikTok baristas to shame!”

“TikTok?” he laughed, his pace speeding up just a bit so he would get home faster. “Wow, I am honored you think that!”

The light conversation continued, nothing too deep or too intense, just chatter about today's shifts and classes. Eventually, Kirishima made it back into his apartment complex, and stumbled into his room, collapsing onto his bed. 

“Can I ask something?” you ask suddenly, and Kirishima lets out a small hum.

“Yeah, of course, what’s up?”

“What do you look like?” you asked softly as if you were curled up in bed, seconds from letting sleep consume you. “I haven’t come up with a mental image that I like, and well, I want some hints.”

“I can just send you a picture of me,” Kirishima smiles, his eyes closing. “It would be much easier than me trying to explain to you what I look like.”

“No!” you disagree, and there's a long sigh from your end of the phone. “I’m not ready for that kind of information yet, Kiri. I just… I can’t accept a pic of you without sending one back, and I’m not mentally ready for that yet…”

“Don’t tell me the big fat Gucci bougie you is shy?!” Kirishima exclaimed, humor drowning his words as he referenced you to something you had called yourself one drunken night weeks ago.

“Not shy!” you bemoan, your voice muffling out at the end of it. “I’m more scared you’ll find me ugly and ghost me…”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Kirishima interjected, his voice stable and confident.

“Which part?”

“Both parts.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know what I look like…”

“...call it… Kirishima’s intuition,” Kirishima slowly stated, his eyebrows furrowing. “I find your voice and your personality to be attractive on their own, so I would never ghost you. And of course, appearance isn’t anything; plus, there’s no way you’re not gorgeous.”

He says these words with honest truth, and a part of him fears he overstepped and made you wildly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that is heard from your end of the line. But finally, as Kirishima is ready to apologize to you, a soft exhale is heard.

“You’re a dork,” you whisper, and a soft grin spreads on his own face. “Anyways, I’ll ask questions, you answer them first, and then I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good!”

“Hair color?”

“Black, but I dye it red.”

“Mm, edgy teenager, I like it, and also knew that because you complained about your stained sheets! Eye color?”

“Red.”

“Oh, am I sensing a theme? How tall are you?”

“I’m… a bit over six feet?”

The list went on, most questions becoming more of a joke than anything else, but he was glad that you were asking these things because now he had an insight on how you looked too. You had told him your eye color, your hair color, how tall you were, and a whole bunch of trivial things he would have never thought to ask about to begin with.

“Okay, last question!” you cheered, happy to have finally included Kirishima into your inside joke that revolved around your eyebrows. “Do you have any distinguishing features?”

“Well, I don’t actually...” Kirishima admitted, his fingers brushing against the scar on his eye, and then it hit him. That was one! “Oh, wait—” CRASH. A loud crashing noise emitted from your side of the call.

“Shit, hold on!” you curse and Kirishima can only remain silent while he hears you yelling in the background, it was too far away for him to quite understand, but it was enough to know that it didn’t sound okay. 

Kirishima sat on his side of the call, the phone pressed to his ear while he tried to strip his gross and sweaty shirt from his body. His teeth bit into his lip, his canine pressing into the permanent indent of his lip, an indicator of how anxious he used to be. 

“Fuck, Kiri?” your voice suddenly snapped back onto the call, your tone frantic and quick.

“Everything okay?”

“No, Hagakure showed up drunker than… a drunken drunk, I don’t know expressions, ANYWAYS I know tonight is our unofficial official call night, but anyway I can get a rain check?”

There was guilt that swallowed your voice, a pang of guilt that made Kirishima warm a bit because it showed that you valued these calls, just like him. 

“Of course, I don’t have class or work Friday morning this time around, so Thursday night?”

“That works perfectly,” you sigh, gratitude. “I owe you, text you later if you don’t fall asleep! Goodnight, sweet dreams, love ya!”

Kirishima couldn’t repeat the whole statement before you hastily hung up, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face the entire time he showered. The shower didn’t take too long, and by the time he emerged from the shower, towel around his neck and his waist, he had a text message. 

sero - hey bro!!! i can’t pick up my morning shift tomorrow i know you have tonight to speak w y/n but todoroki and bakugou can’t cover it!

Kirishima sighed, he definitely didn’t have anything tomorrow anyways, he could manage with going in for an extra shift to help a friend.

kirishima - yeah sure what time?

sero - youre a life saver T-T im covering 8 am - 3 pm!!!

Kirishima sent a simple affirmative emoji before finishing up his nightly routine. 

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Kirishima looked at his apron while he was assembling himself in the backroom. The aroma of roasted coffee beans and pastries was almost pungent in the back, and he was eager to get out of there. As per employee regulations, he was to wear a black apron, a name tag, and something to hold his hair because it was a bit too long, for that, he wore a white bandana around his forehead.

“Wait, where’s my name tag?” Kirishima called out, his eyebrows furrowing when he turned out to Kaminari, who was currently in the back with him.

The blond froze and scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly, “About that…”

So Kirishima was in the front of the store with a shiny silver name tag that read Hanta Sero. Because Kaminari was the best barista they had on hand currently, he was busy teaching Midoriya — their newest hire — around the bar. For now, Todoroki was nowhere to be found, and Kirishima was handling the cash register. 

Today was a slow morning, most people had their day off today, so morning coffee rush wasn’t in existence. Sure, there were a few outliers, but it was never chaotic. 

The gentle bell of the front door rang, and Kirishima automatically called out.

“Welcome!”

You had walked into the store, your eyebrows furrowed while you prayed that this was the coffee shop your roommates had been raving about. You’d never been here before, but it was the closest coffee shop available that wasn’t something generic and basic like Starbucks. You looked up from your phone at the voice, a thank you automatically being repeated while you neared the register.

You froze when you saw the red hair and the red eyes of the handsome man at the register. A careless thought entered your mind, Kirishima said he had red hair and red eyes… but he said he didn’t work today… 

A kind smile sat on his face, his eyes taking you in, waiting for you to approach him. 

This couldn’t be him, right?

The last time you had assumed a redhead working in a coffee shop was Kirishima, it had ended embarrassingly. 

“Um, hi,” you drawled out, your eyes reading the board to figure out your own order. 

Kirishima couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, you were exactly what you had described to him, but he wouldn’t ask until he was sure. He would ask you for your name after collecting your order for either tea or hot chocolate, and if it was you, he’d reveal that he was Kirishima. But he didn’t want to be wrong; he didn’t want to pin any other person as you, after all.

“I’ve never been here before,” you confess, your hand rubbing the back of your head. You were transfixed on the caramel macchiato that was spelled in the prettiest font, though, plus Hagakure promised all their coffee was good. 

“Oh, well, welcome! If you need any recommendations or have anything else to order, I can put those through while you look?”

His smile was kind, and you felt blood rush to your face, something you desperately tried to fight off by thinking of anything you didn’t like. 

“Oh! I do have two orders, though! There’s going to be one chai tea latte with three pumps of vanilla, and a lavender tea with a splash of oat milk.”

Kirishima nodded his head, “Will this be for here, or to go?”

His voice sounds so similar to Kirishima, you hoped, studying his face. While you answered that it was to go, you saw a distinctive scar on his right eye. Kirishima had said he didn’t have any distinguishing features… 

“What are your favorites here?” you ask, your eyebrows scrunched in confusion, your thoughts very evident in your face.

Kirishima couldn’t help but find hope bubbling up in his chest, there was always the possibility that you two lived in the same city-based off the same area code, and with what seemed like an incomplete knowledge in coffee, maybe…

Kirishima rambled off about the different seasonal drinks right now, his recommendations leaning towards the teas and non-coffee things primarily after his general and basic list. You seemed to take every word out of his lip like gospel, agreeing and nodding when appropriate, and his lips stretched into a grin when you bluntly exclaimed your ill knowledge of this all.

“To be honest, I only step into coffee shops to take a cute pic and then leave,” you laugh, pressing your hands against your lips and screaming a bit in your throat. 

Kirishima laughed, more confidence blooming through his body over the hope that this was you. It had to be you.

Your eyes then found the nametag on his apron, and like a sinking ship, you read Sero.

Not Kirishima.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have the caramel macchiato,” you decide, a grateful smile on your face while he looks down and writes the orders.

“A name?”

“Penny,” came your automatic response.

You never used your real name in coffee shops.

Kirishima suppressed the way that his mouth wanted to drop into a sad smile, and like two rejected teenagers, the money was exchanged. Before Kirishima could attempt to calm his disappointed soul, you walked out of the shop with the coffees and tea in hand.

“What was that about?” Kaminari asked, his eyes wide. “There was so much flirting and then poof, gone from both sides. Come on, dude, it’s my job to fail at flirting, not yours!”

Kirishima laughed, ignoring the way that his three friends looked at him with concern and curiosity. “Nothing, I just… the customer looked like how y/n described herself to be…”

“Oh… sorry, bro.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Kirishima waved it off, and without so much as another slap on the back, he went back to work.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“What the hell are you doing?”

Kirishima looked up from his phone, his fingers mid-type pausing only for a millisecond before continuing to text blindly. 

“Oh, hey, Bakubro, what’s up?” he cheerfully spoke, ignorant to the controller in the ash blond’s hand. 

“It’s your turn, shitty hair, pay fucking attention!” Bakugou barked, tossing the plastic controller into his chest. Kirishima grunted, the feeling of the plastic slamming against his chest was less than ideal, but the smile on his face didn’t waiver while he offered his best friend the controller back.

“It’s all good, you can have another turn, I can handle being out this round!”

“Kiri, that’s six rounds in a row,” Kaminari spoke up, his face in a teasing smirk.

It was then that Kirishima’s face turned approximately the same color as his hair. “I didn’t—”

“Awww, Eijirou has a little crush on y/n!!!” Kaminari sang, resulting in agreeing with noises from Sero and Midoriya. Only Bakugou and Todoroki remained silent. 

Kirishima only laughed, he knew he couldn’t deny that fact, but he wouldn’t say it aloud — especially because Bakugou seemed to hate you. It had been now four months since the two of you had ‘meet,’ and while he still had no face to imagine you with, things had taken a slightly flirty route between the two of you.

Calls were much more frequent, nearly all nights the two of you would speak, even if it was just a measly summary of the day and a ‘sweet dreams’ and a ‘goodnight’ and an ‘I love you.’ It always happened nowadays.

Tonight was an exception, of course, because he was out with his friends, and apparently, you were doing the same. 

“You can’t be fucking serious?” Bakugou spat, a laugh spluttering from his lips, but it was cold and held no humor. “You caught feelings for a person who’s too much of a fucking coward to reveal a picture of themselves?”

“That’s not fair; besides, it's not about physical appearance!” Kirishima waved him off, pressing send to his text message.

have fun tonight! text me when u get back home if ur able to!

“Just how naive can you be?” Bakugou sneered, his hand taking the phone from Kirishima's side. “Six months of talking every week, texting every day, and this y/n still hasn’t trusted you with a single picture of them? I know you said that she told you how she looked, and all that shit, but let's be real, it’s so easy to lie about how you look like when you don’t have to provide a picture. What y/n say? Big tits? Big ass? Small waist? What about her did she say that made you so fucking insane over her?”

“N-Nothing! We didn’t talk about our body types!” Kirishima’s eyes widened significantly, the once comfortable atmosphere of the room wholly gone while Bakugou’s vermillion eyes seethed silently. “None of that matters! I told you the truth! I like y/n because of her personality, she’s manly, and I like that a lot! It’s not about her appearance, how pessimistic can you get, bro! I promise you, she’s trustworthy!”

“Is she really?”

“What?”

“How can you be in love with someone who you trust entirely, but doesn’t trust you at all? You said that y/n won’t show you a picture of herself because she’s scared you won’t like her? How is that trusting you? How is that fucking fair? To me, that sounds like some fucked up catfishing thing.”

“We talk on the phone, dude,” Kirishima said softly, but those thoughts were invading his mind. Did you not trust him? He knew he wasn’t the best option in the world, and he had accepted that in time and by improving on what he thought he was best at. But did you, after all this time, really not believe him when he claimed nothing would change when he saw you? “Catfishes don’t even do that… besides, the first call was by accident, why would someone—”

“Dunce face, what’s that one fucking idiotic thing you do for fun?” Bakugou snapped at the blond, not even bothering to look at him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I do that you—” Kaminari laughed awkwardly, his smile tight and awkward.

“Kaminari.”

“I call… random numbers… pretending to have a big issue to see how they react…” he admitted, and Kirishima’s stomach clenched.

“And?” Bakugou snarled.

“I pretend to be a girl…”

“Don’t be stupid, Bakugou, this is more than one time!” Kirishima groaned.

“It's a voice that you can’t attach a face to, who knows if this is a person you can trust! People with voice acting exist in this world, how the hell do you possibly know that they’re not one of them?! Be fucking real, if ‘y/n’ trusted you, if that’s even their name, they wouldn’t be hiding their face from you.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything else, the acid piling in his throat was too much for him to even look at his friend. The night didn’t really recover from that conversation, and Kirishima eventually found himself back home.

He sat at the edge of his bed, his phone in his hands, waiting for a message from you. He couldn’t sleep, and even though he had work tomorrow morning, he found himself wide awake, unable to let sleep consume.

It was three in the morning when you sent a text, his eyes still wide awake, and with shaky fingers, he read the message.

i just got home can you believe that i drank three cups of wine and didnt get tipsy??????? thats on being a raging alcoholic ;D

Kirishima wanted to laugh; on god, he would’ve found this beyond delightful to read because he knew you couldn’t handle your liquor, but that bitter stream of acid destroyed the humor in his thoughts.

Were you really telling the truth? Was this all a lie?

He didn’t text back; instead, his finger pressed the call button, and he held his breath.

“Helloooo?” a voice picked up on the second ring, but it wasn’t your voice. It was a voice he didn’t recognize at all.

‘Voice actors,’ Bakugou’s voice reentered his thoughts, and the phone in his hand nearly dropped.

“Sorry, hello?” the voice he knew as you finally came through, and Kirishima let out a shallow breath, one so small, so mediocrely weak it burned his lungs.

“Do you trust me?” he asked softly, maybe too softly because you asked with a strained laugh for him to repeat his words. “Do you trust me, y/n?”

There was a pause on your end, too long a beat for Kirishima to be comfortable with.

“Of course I trust you, Ei, are you okay?”

“Do you actually trust me, or are you lying?”

“Woah there,” you said a small laugh on your tongue, but there was only confusion in it, not your contagious sound. “Did you drink? It’s a work night, you never do that!”

“Answer the question,” Kirishima spoke with finality, his shoulders tense, tears pushing past his eyes while he struggled to maintain composure.

Prove Bakugou wrong, please, prove Bakugou wrong.

“Of course I do,” you spoke with genuine clarity, but still, Kirishima was rattled, his confidence blown. “What’s going on?”

Did he want to confess to his insecurities? Was it worth it? His breathing became frantic, almost as if he was going insane just thinking about where his thoughts were. But Kirishima was never good at hiding things, no he was as open as a book.

“Why won’t you let me see you… we’ve been friends for six months, and the only thing I know about you is your eye color and your hair color. It’s so insanely generic that I can’t… I can’t do this.”

“What are you trying to say?” you ask, your voice small, almost a whisper of all the energy one could have at this time of night.

“I can’t be friends with someone who doesn’t trust me, who’s using me,” he spoke with perfect clarity that hid away his insecurities about this all. “For all, I know nothing about you is real, that this is all just some ploy to hurt me in the end. Six months and you can’t trust me with a single meet up or even a picture? I just… has this been a game for you, y/n? Or is that even your name.”

The call ended and a single message held on his screen, this call has been dropped, but you didn’t seem to want to call him back.

Kirishima didn’t sleep a wink that night, his words coming back to bite him in the throat each and every time he thought he was close enough to sleep. Insecurities riled up in him, consuming him entirely.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

He tried to call back.

For fourteen straight days, Kirishima attempted to call you back.

Every time he called you, he would always hang up before he could take back his words. But each call, after he had prematurely hung up, he would recant his mean words to the unresponsive phone. He did trust you, he was weak, he was unmanly to assume those things. You could take, however long it took to finally trust him again because he would wait for you no matter what. He apologized again and again until the very last one he broke down into silent tears, a single message of ‘I hope one day you’ll forgive me’ hung weakly on his voice and put his phone away. 

It was sixteen days since he had spoken those cruel words to you, and in that time, he didn’t regret finally talking about his ill feelings towards wanting to reveal yourself to him. But he did regret the way it came out; instead of it being a deep and personal conversation, it came out as bitter and one-sided. The two of you were disconnected, and he felt empty.

But he couldn’t focus on it, not today, after all, it was Bakugou’s birthday, and everyone was gathering at the local fancy restaurant to celebrate. 

Kirishima dressed up presentable, wearing a navy blue button-up, and dark slacks. He walked towards the entrance of the restaurant where Kaminari, Sero, and Midoriya were eagerly leading the group of them into the building. Typically Kirishima would’ve been with them in terms of spirit, but he felt energyless at the moment.

With the moon high in the sky, Kirishima stilled when Bakugou called out his name.

He stared at his best friend, the ash blond’s lip curled into a sneer while he huffed, “Listen, Kirishima, I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“What? Oh, no, it’s okay, Bakugou!” Kirishima laughed, his hand slapping to the back of his neck. “You weren’t wrong.”

“I never said I was wrong,” Bakugou grunted, his eyes locked on Kirishima’s while he shoved his hands into his pockets. Kirishima stilled, unsure as to where this would be leading. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I know that Mina hurt you badly, and you’re too big of an idiot to not see when things arise. Maybe y/n is genuine, but if you aren’t fucking honest with her about your own feelings about how she’s so secretive, it’s not going to work.”

Kirishima smiled softly, a weak shrug moving through him, “I know, thanks, man.”

Bakugou nodded, and without a word, he continued on ahead where Midoriya was yelling at them to hurry up and come so they could be seated. 

Kirishima sighed, rolling out his shoulders before following afterward.

Kirishima followed after the hostess, smiling at her gratefully when she sat the group into their own private room and left. 

“Bakugou’s paying, right?” Kaminari stage whispered to Midoriya while staring at the prices on the menu.

“Eat shit, dunce face, learn how to save up your fucking money the next time you offer to come to this fucking place!” Bakugou roared, hearing the whisper.

“I’ll be covering the bill,” Todoroki informed with a smirk on his face. Kirishima laughed, looking at the prices and indeed agreeing with Kaminari’s statement. Having a wealthy friend was very convenient at times like this.

“Hi, welcome to Eiko, I’ll be your waitress today!” a voice chirped from the entrance of the room, and Kirishima froze, he recognized that voice and face.

It was the person he had mistaken for you all those months ago.

By the smile on your face, it seemed that you recognized them all too.

“And what is your name,” Sero winked, his eyes captivated by you.

“Oh, haha, sorry, my name is y/n,” you smiled, moving the menus you held in your hand to show the silver nametag on your uniform.

“Oh, like Kirishima’s y/n,” Kaminari laughed, pointing a finger at Kirishima, not at all being as quiet as he probably thought himself to be. But it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who thought that because while Kirishima was staring at your face, embarrassingly taking you in, you followed Kaminari’s finger.

Your sight sat on the redhead in the middle whose name was Kirishima, and you straightened up in what felt like panic. 

“You’re Kirishima?” you asked quietly, your finger grasping the menus so tightly, your knuckles turned white. “Kirishima Eijirou.”

“The one and only,” Kaminari voiced for him, his arm thrown over Kirishima’s shoulder while he nodded like a scholar. “And why do you ask?”

“Shut the fuck up, dunce face.” Bakugou hissed.

Kirishima continued to stare at you, a million words running through his head, yet not a single one being translated on his tongue. You were beautiful.

What should he say?

What could he say?

Your lips pursed, and you shook your head, a smile of disbelief spreading across your face, “Unbelievable.”

“Y/n—”

“Be quiet,” you snap, your tone angry, but your eyes beyond hurt. “What can I get you guys to drink?”

Dinner wasn’t exactly a pleasant time, you came in and left faster than anyone could blink, and yet none of their drinks went empty, nor did they really have a problem. Much quicker than Kirishima would’ve liked, they were done and were soon piling out of the restaurant after Kirishima decided to leave a very, very generous tip.

“I’m going to stay until I can speak to y/n,” Kirishima said, waving off his friends who were expecting him to follow. But he couldn’t, not when he felt like the world's biggest ass for what he did to you.

“Good luck,” they all wished him well before eventually leaving, knowing better than to stick around.

So there at the outside bench, Kirishima waited.

Two hours he sat there until you emerged from the front door, your hair was no longer put back, you held your apron in your hand, and your purse on your shoulder.

“Y/n!” he called out, his feet no longer cemented into place; he strode after you.

You didn’t seem to pick up the pace, nor did you slow down. You were focused on your car that sat at the edge of the parking lot, and you ignored his calls.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your shoulder, and he appeared before you did Kirishima freeze again. Angry hot tears slid down your face, your face screwed up, your shoulders stiff.

“What do you want, Kirishima?” you spat, but there was only exhaustion in your voice, nothing bitter, nothing at all what Kirishima deserved from you.

“I want to apologize,” Kirishima whispered, his hands struggling to reach out and wipe your tears away. You were crying because of him, he did this to you. “I was a dick, I was… beyond unmanly to you, and I’m so sorry! I just let Bakugou get into my head, and I’ve never been a secure person because, well, I’m just… fuck, I don’t even know, but all I know is that you didn’t deserve this. And I like you so much, but I didn’t — I don’t know what to do?!”

Your eyes stared up at him, they were bright with tears, wounded beyond anything Kirishima could hope to fix.

“That night, you said if I didn’t trust you, but I did trust you! I’ve always trusted you—” your finger jabbed his chest— “but it was you who didn’t trust me! I get that it’s hard to not have a picture of someone you care about after a long length of time, but we were always fine for a while! It was going to happen, but while I trusted you, I didn’t trust myself, okay?! I couldn’t trust myself to see that if you were so much more handsome than me that I couldn’t be confident enough to let myself be friends with you! I constantly fuck up relationships when I have crushes on people because… I don’t know, I just do! But you were someone with no risk and the highest risk, and I wanted to be sure in my own feelings before giving you a picture of me! But… fuck, Kirishima, you didn’t trust me!”

Kirishima’s throat tightened, the tears on your face a guilty reminder that this was because of him. But how could he fix this?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands grabbing onto your arms just above the elbow, and his head hung by your forehead, not quite touching you, but just enough that his spiked hair teased the atoms between you. You were taller than he expected, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with, no, not at all. “You’re right, I didn’t trust you, and you didn’t deserve that. I don’t think there’s anything that I can say, or do for that matter, to change your mind, and I’m sorry. I just panicked because who gets into this type of situation, how do I tell my phone friend that I have feelings for her? I was weak, and I am so fucking pathetic, and I just want to make things better. If you’ll let me be your friend again…”

He slowly looked back up at you, and you were frozen in your place, tears falling down your face still.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” you confessed, and Kirishima’s heart broke in two, his hands dropping from your arms in his embarrassment and humiliation.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry still, um… maybe I’ll see you again?” Kirishima smiled despite it all, he kept smiling despite the crack in his chest and his soul.

“You will,” you murmured, and before Kirishima could blink, your fists wrapped in his collar, and you brought him down for an ardent kiss that he was not quick to respond to. It took three seconds for him to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in, kissing you again and again and again.

It didn’t seem to matter to either one of you that you were both now kissing without a care in the world in the middle of a parking lot, because you both had your emotions exposed to the other, and you didn’t want to be friends. At least not when the man who held your heart confessed that you held his in yours. 

The two of you weren’t truly disconnected, it was just a little lost moment in your call.

[farty-city]

inside bo burnham review no one asked for

i enjoy other peoples commentary and i was writing down my first thoughts anyway so here it is

inside

first song/intro song

i like the phone screen on him, very reflective of how we have had phone screens on us

“roberts been a little depressed” osnskjdnfs

they were right “daddys made you some content so open wide” hjbfafn

intro

oh my god he looks awful

but like in a cute way

maybe

healing the world with comedy (second song)

the canned and queued laugher no exactly… is it a symbol or is it just funny.. who's to say. 

it think its a good first song, establishing he knows what he is doing is kind of useless 

“the indescribable power of your comedy”

he looks like marc maron rn

i like the synthed voice and synthesizer

the jesus allusion … yeah

“i'm a special kind of white guy”

this feels like he knows how he is perceived by fans.. Make happy was too much

his fucking dancing fksjdnfksj

i think he did a good job looking manic

the lasers lmao

Side 1

Bo made a huge gamble releasing this like,,, what if you just stumbled upon it and this was ur first introduction to him..

I bet its like when i comment dumb things on instagram comments and get that rush of hehehehe

NO NOT BO DEVELOPING BILLIE EILLISH VOWELS

Also this is exactly what he wanted like,, he just wanted to make his things and not deal with the crowds so..

To think i was like finding scraps of him performing at largo and stuff and now,, so much content

life imitates art

the way he's literally what he wrote hgbkdf

there is no authenticity with cameras

suicide ?

 facetime with my mom tonight

the blue light.. Yeah

o hblue like sad

i don't know how i feel about the electric music but i guess its no different than whatever else i listen to

this is sad wow

still catchy etc

side 2

i wonder if here will be any fart jokes

that is how the world works (songs)

the huge mess and then him in a sweater

this is reminiscent of that walmart muppets

he became tim minchin with a sock puppet

the “yes… yes sir” stoppp 

jkgdsnfijwkensfosnf

qbejfnjne

nerjgnoejns

bo making a political statement and a metaphor for activism and then making it weirdly kinky

brand consultant (bit)

man bun

i have to believe he filmed it with the beard because quarantine vibes and also bc he was tired of being seen as a child

white womans instagram (song)

i did not like that intro

BO AND GLASSES THANK GOD

the daisies wow just wow

underwear

“white womans instagram” or “bo burnham becomes a girlboss”

i like that he didn't lose his cadence like the way the rhymes are you can still tell its him

i don't get the mom part sorry

is it like how people are very superficial but also very personal on their instagrams

this part was legit sad

side 3

i wonder how he felt with cameras constantly on him

Although this is the point hes trying to make

lol seinfeld moment (bit)

unpaid intern (bit and song)

“barely people somehow legal” was so smooth woW

omg he was scatting

he was a man who would scat

oh my god what great news

the react clip omg

i cant believe he did that oh my god

observation/critisism and response to the “can anyone shut the fuck up” 

and as i realized what he was doing he was like “i have this need for everything i make to have a deeper meaning” oh my god

now the question is how long will this go on?

jeffrey bezos (song)

idk its catchy

and then theres him like sleeping and talking which kind of is part of the jeff bezos song

bug eyes salamanders hehe

sexting (song)

i do believe this is just a silly song 

the earrings tho omg

sounds like post malone hbkjdsnfskj

idk its still about like intimacy in quarantine and that stuff..

the knife (bit)

i know hes copying like other youtubers but like,,, what

stuck in a room (song)

the intro is very funny and relatable

classic bo i love it 

i will say this special has been more reflective but i suppose it has to be

“look whos inside again”

i like the end too, this is all a fabrication

this is the clip where hes staring at the projection of himself from his old youtube videos which is sort of more like an ending to the “stuck in my room” song

 sorry (song)

i love the 80’s style music and its like zumba

oh this is like an apology song

“father please forgive me for i did not realise what i did, or that id live to regret it” what a catchy line

i would say this is another more “classic” bo song where its self aware and funny

“my closet it chalk full of stuff that is vaguely shitty” 

camera falling

this deserves its own bullet because its silly

i'm turning 30 (bit and song)

i remember him talking about this on a podcast and like,, damn i didn't know this also happened LOL

i really like how he did the lighting 

“stupid fucking ugly boring children”

suicide talk (1)

this is interesting i like the use of the projection

this is something that could never have happened onstage

just like with the it being projected on him

i guess it could but it would have to be done differently and probably hed have to make it funnier to make it more engaging

intermission

i just checked this is about the halfway point.. Mh

i don't wanna know (song)

“i thought it’d be over by now”

i wish this was longer but i kind of like how its just a little snippet and then the cut

video game (bit)

“i guess i’ll cry again”

“is the dude big or is the room small” lol

hm depression

 feelin like shit (song)

ohh the lighting is fun again

this is the tone shift i suppose

the feels like supalonely and the new kind of music

atl

:(

panic attack 

everything all of the time (song)

feels like brandon rogers 

i enjoy this

this feels like “welcome to youtube” grew up

“a little bit of everything all of the time”

“apathys a tragedy and boredoms a crime”

ok olivia rodrigo

finishing the special (bit)

these feel like diary entries but as standup

interesting choice

jeffery bezos (2)

Why the seaweed suit

Where did he get that

the digital space (bit)

suit up, gather what is needed, and return to the surface

damn

pirate map anfdkjfnskjd

this was so stupid (affectonate)

that funny feeling (song)

the campfire vibes 

kenny loggins

i don't get it..

is it about childhood, is it about the present?

i think its talking about the end of content? 

“the end of culture”, to quote make happy

change and not liking it 

“we were overdue, but it will be over soon”

if the second half of the special is like a panic attack this song is like a momentary pause before it gets worse

“so ive been working on this special”/breakdown 

this was .. uncomfortable and genuine which i'm sure is why he kept it

all eyes on me (song/rant)

another sad thing to watch.. damn

me trying to tell if the audio was from make happy

i think he was trying to make it as if the audio was from make happy 

this feels.. familiar

and obviously that is the point

“come on in the waters fine”

the use of autotune during the talking part... yeah

sad that he was gonna make another special… and it would have been totally different than this

i’ve decided i like the homage to make happy

It feels like hes made peace with it

the montage of him waking up and the “i think i'm done”

and then of course the ending where he's watching it over to remind us that its all fabricated

possible ending song/ “i promise to never go outside again”

ngl he looks good in the shirt with the haircut hehe

which i feel like is what he wants up to notice

and then like not think after we saw all his breakdowns

“i want to hear you tell a joke when no ones laughing in the background”

i really like the medley

Final thoughts

I want a blooper reel, but this doesn't seem like the kind of special

I also wonder if the songs will be on like apple music, but again, doesn't seem like the kind of special

I'm happy for him, he got to be honest and open and show us the sort of panicky stuff

this self aware comedy is exactly the stuff that i think will be making a comeback in the next decade.  John better be pulling up with more deconstructed comedy. 

I hope this has given him peace

[sabababa]

Hello, I was wondering if I could request a oneshot please. About goblin slayer having a crush on the reader and making it really obvious and being super blunt about it, but shes to much of an clumsy airhead to relise it please. Awh and bonus is shes short and slightly think/chubby 🖤💞

Goblin Slayer x Female!Reader

Summary: Goblin Slayer takes up different non-human courting methods to convey his feelings for the reader, but she thinks he’s just being a good friend.

Warnings: Some mention of alcohol 

Word count: 3.3+

When Goblin Slayer first told his group that he had a crush on (Y/n), they didn’t take it literally. “I like (Y/n),” he said simply. They didn’t look too much into it until one day, they noticed him watching her as she left the guild for the night. He waved back to her like everyone else did as she left the building. He sighed as he leaned against the table, still looking at the door she just went through.

Elf Archer nearly spat out her drink. “Wait! You like-like (Y/n)?!”

“I told you before,” he stated, still staring at the door.

“Well, we thought you meant as a friend!” She exclaimed.

“More than a friend,” he replied, turning to look at the elf girl.

“If you explained more in detail, we would’ve known better and helped you,” Dwarf Shaman said as he stroked his beard in thought.

“Would you?” Goblin Slayer asked.

“Of course!” Lizard Priest praised. “My people take great joy in when someone starts to court another as a mate!”

“What would you recommend?” The slayer inquired.

“Have you tried getting her gifts?” Priestess asked.

He shook his head. “I haven’t tried anything yet.” He admitted.

“How come?” She stared up at him, confused.

He shrugged. “I don’t know what to do.” Then sighed and rested his chin in his hand as he leaned against the table.

“Woah, you must really like her to be acting like this,” The archer commented as her brows rose at his demeanor.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen you like this,” Priestess said worriedly.

“Are you sure you like her? You’re not mistaking this for another emotion? Because if you are, I won’t hesitate to hurt you if anything happens to-” Elf Archer began to rant before she was cut off.

“I like her.” He stated and stood up straight again, looking at the elf girl. “In fact, I think I might actually love her.”

“Woah!” The entire group gasped.

“That’s a big word, Orcbolg. Are you sure you’re using, right?” Elf Archer teased.

“I may be ignorant socially,” he started, “but I know my own emotions.”

“Hm.” Lizard Priest hummed. “I will help you with courting (Y/n) with my people’s customs. Hopefully, she will reciprocate.”

“What do I have to do?” He asked.

“The females of my species look for many things in a mate,” the lizard began. “First, who is the strongest,” he held up one finger, “second, who is the best hunter,” he held up another finger, “and third, who has the best scales.”

“Your species must be picky if the males have to jump through so many hoops!” Dwarf Shaman commented.

“It is the best way to secure a strong bloodline,” Lizard Priest nodded his head. Then he turned his attention back to the slayer. “You’ve already proven your strength when fighting goblins. Now you must hunt for her to show you will be able to provide for her.”

“I don’t hunt animals.” Goblin Slayer said flatly.

“Well, you hunt goblins, can’t be that much harder!” The dwarf replied.

“Goblins and animals are very different.”

“No matter, I will teach you how to track!” Lizard Priest offered. “We will track the biggest game in this region. Tell me, do you know what it is?”

“Deer,” the slayer answered.

The lizard put his snout in his hand, thoughtfully as he closed his eyes. “That should be big enough since you humans are smaller than my people.” Then he formed a fist with his hand and smacked it into his palm. “Right, let’s go hunt!”

                                                         * * *

Goblin Slayer dropped the deer carcass onto the table inside the farmhouse, where the group waited. “Did you have to bring it inside!” Elf Archer screeched and jumped away from the table in horror. “This poor, innocent creature!”

“Now what?” The slayer looked to Lizard Priest.

“You must present it to (Y/n),” the lizard stated with a smile.

“You can’t just give her a dead deer!” The archer yelled.

“Yeah, you should prepare it as a meal,” Cowgirl spoke from the kitchen doorway, a small smile on her face.

“Can you help me with that?” Goblin Slayer asked her.

“Of Course!” She agreed. “You just need to help me prepare it.” More time passed as Goblin Slayer and Cowgirl prepared the home-cooked meal, even using vegetables from the garden to make it into a wonderful stew. “That looks like everything,” Cowgirl said as she stared at the ingredients. “If you go grab (Y/n) now, the stew should be ready by the time you get back.”

He nodded. “Right,” and started to leave before he was pulled back.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Elf Archer grinned mischievously. “You still have one more step to do!”

“What?” The slayer looked at her.

“We have to make you look presentable!”

“But what about (Y/n)?”

Lizard Priest spoke up, right as a Dragontooth Warrier appeared. “I’ll take care of that!” And then gave it a note before it ran out the door.

Time passed again as Priestess, and Elf Archer helped Goblin Slayer look his best. They made him bathe while they cleaned his armor and placed some long, rooster tail feathers in the back of his helmet. They were a rare red color, and they curved nicely against his helmet, making him look like a knight. “You look amazing!” Priestess complimented as she watched him fit his armor back on.

“Were the feathers necessary?” He asked as he felt them go over his should from how long they were.

“Yes! You look so much better now!” The elf girl spoke. “I dare say you even look handsome!”

“Are you staying for the dinner?” He asked.

“No way! This is a date! It should just be you two!” 

“Really?” He sounded unsure, nervous even.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be in the next room over, so we’ll be listening!” Elf Archer grinned and waved her hand dismissively.

“Don’t be nervous,” Cowgirl said as she began setting the table. “Just be yourself.”

He stayed silent for a moment before nodding his head. “Yeah.”

A knock came at the door, and the elf ushered everyone but Goblin Slayer into the next room to hide. He watched them for a moment, seemingly confused, before she stuck her head back out the door. “Answer it!” She hissed quietly and hid again.

He did as she said and opened the door to reveal (Y/n). His heartbeat sped up, and felt his helmet become a bit humid. She looked so pretty, she wore casual clothing, but she looked perfect to him. He kept staring until she brought a note up to his face. “Did you ask me here for a ‘delicious and hearty game to devour’?” She giggled at the end.

“Oh, is that what that says?” He took it from her hand and read the contents. It was clear Lizard Priest wrote the note, but the signature at the bottom was his name. He put it in his pouch behind his back and then gestured to her to come inside. 

“Wow, it smells delicious!” She smelled the air deeply and hummed in content.

“Yeah, it does,” he said as he sat down at the table. (Y/n) sat down too and admired the meal before he spoke again. “You smell nice too.”

“O-oh, do I?” 

“Yeah, I always worry if the goblin’s blood will be enough to hide your scent,”

Elf Archer face-palmed at his attempt at a compliment.

“Well, I guess you put enough on me that it works.” (Y/n) laughed. He laughed with her. They began eating the stew in silence before he heard a noise from behind her. He looked up and saw Elf Archer mouthing something to him. ‘Mention the meat!’ He stared at her longer, trying to figure what she was mouthing until it clicked. “Um, is something wrong?” The girl in front of him spoke up, noticing his staring.

Since he wore a helmet, she couldn’t tell he was looking behind her, luckily. “I caught the deer for this stew.” He said.

“Oh, you know how to hunt?”

“Lizard Priest taught me earlier today.”

“Wow, you must be a natural if you were able to catch one today!” 

Lizard Priest’s heart swelled with pride as he felt like he was watching his youngling succeed in getting a mate.

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t that different from Goblin hunting.” He ate another piece of the stew.

“It’s so cool how you’re so willing to learn new stuff.” (Y/n) smiled before taking a bite of meat.

“A lot of people are smarter than me, I know that,” he started, “but when it comes to goblin killing, I’m the smartest there is.” He heard another noise at the doorway and looked behind (Y/n). Elf Archer was mouthing something again. ‘Steer away from goblins!’

“What do you keep looking at?” The girl asked nervously. “Is something on my face?” She tried wiping around her mouth for any stray food, but nothing came up.

“I…” He kept staring at her flustered expression. “I just think you’re beautiful.”

A faint blush dusted her cheeks before giving a light giggle as it disappeared. “I think you look handsome too, especially with the new feathers,” she complimented him.

He looked back down at the soup, stirring it for another bite. “I think they’re unnecessary.”

“Then why did you get them?”

“I didn’t, the girls put them in.”

“Why?”

“To impress you.” He casually took a bite of a vegetable.

“What for? Do you need something? Because you know you can just ask.” (Y/n) smiled sweetly. He stared at her for a while, he was mostly confused at her offer. Why would he need to impress her if he needed something? The entire group face-palmed at hearing her response. Then she looked over and saw that the sun was starting to set. “Oh! I need to get back home before it gets dark!” She quickly ate the rest of her meal and stood up. “Thanks for the food, it was delicious! But if you need a favor, you can just ask next time!” She smiled before leaving the house.

Elf Archer entered the room after the door closed. “Quick, offer to walk her home!”

Goblin Slayer’s head dipped as he looked at the rest of his stew. “No, she doesn’t feel the same way.”

“No, that’s not what happened!” She sat next to him, and the group joined them. “We all know (Y/n), she’s pretty oblivious to stuff like this!”

“Yes, Sir Goblin Slayer, do not be discouraged!” Lizard Priest held a fist up. “You have no other suitors to quarrel so you can have another chance with her!”

Goblin Slayer didn’t respond, he kept looking down. They stared at him sadly in silence.

“Alright! I’ve made up my mind!” Dwarf Shaman declared loudly. “I’ll help you court (Y/n) with some surefire dwarf customs that not even a human could resist!”

                                                          * * *

The next day, Goblin Slayer and the group stood inside a jewelry store as the dwarf began a lecture. “In Dwarf Society, we value wealth above all else, and a quick way to a woman’s heart is with jewelry!” He began. “By giving (Y/n) a rare and expensive jewel, you are showing her that you can take care of her and that no jewel is too expensive!”

“What should I get?” Goblin Slayer looked to him for advice.

The dwarf hummed as he inspected each jewel in the store. He came upon one that looked like the proper stone to give to the girl. He held up a large sapphire necklace that was held together by pearls. “This one!”

“No.” The slayer said immediately.

“Why not?!” Dwarf Shaman gasped. “It’s the perfect size! The jewel is immaculate! Any dwarf woman would accept this!”

“Exactly, you’re thinking about dwarf women,” Goblin Slayer said as he looked around the jewels himself. “(Y/n)’s human and doesn’t need something that gaudy.”

“B-b-but-” Dwarf Shaman stuttered before being cut off.

“Shut it, dwarf! Let him do what he thinks is best!” Elf Archer shushed him.

The slayer stopped when he saw a particular piece. It was a small ruby gemstone with a small, golden chain attached to it. He picked it up to inspect it, then handed it to the dwarf. “What about this?”

The dwarf looked at it and gave an appreciative nod. “This would do.”

Priestess gasped when she saw the price. “But that’s so expensive!”

“Cost isn’t an issue,” he said as he grabbed the necklace back. “It’s worth it for her.”

After they left the store, they started to head back to the guildhall in search of (Y/n), but as luck would have it, right as they turned a corner, said girl bumped into him and almost fell onto her back, but the slayer grabbed her before she fell. She opened her eyes, surprised she didn’t feel hard ground beneath her, but instead, Goblin Slayer held her in a dipped position. 

He pulled her back up as he asked. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” She stuttered, embarrassed that she almost fell onto her butt in front of the silver-rank hero.

“Hey! Perfect timing! He was looking for you!” Elf Archer pushed him forward slightly, and he almost tripped.

“What for? Do you need that favor?” The girl asked.

“Uhh…” He looked at her. He started to feel discouraged again. The doubt crept into the back of his mind as he thought back to the jewel in his pouch.

“He just needs to give you something!” The archer explained. “But we’ll be going now! See you at the guildhall!” She pushed the group around the corner, and they hid there as they listened to the conversation.

“You need to give me something? I don’t remember lending you anything.” (Y/n) rested a finger on her chin in thought.

Goblin Slayer managed to kick himself out of the rut he was in and cleared his throat to catch her attention. They stared at each other as he reached behind him and pulled out a velvet box. “This is for you.”

(Y/n) grabbed the box from him in curiosity and opened it. She gasped at the vibrant jewel inside. She pulled it out from the box and admired it in the sunlight. “It’s so pretty!”

“Not as pretty as you.”

She blushed. “T-thanks, but you didn’t need to get me anything,”

The blush that appeared on her cheeks gave him some hope, and he perked up a little. “Do you want me to put it on you?”

“Sure! If you don’t mind!” She smiled at him. She handed him the necklace as she turned around. The necklace fell in front of her gaze before resting on her chest.

“There,” he said.

(Y/n) turned back around to look at him. “Thanks so much, but why did you get me this?”

“Because I like you,” he felt his helmet grow humid as his heartbeat was erratic in his chest.

“Aw, you don’t have to buy me jewelry!” She smiled. “We’re just friends!”

His heart rate sped up again, but in panic and anger toward himself. He was stupid to think she actually liked him. He knew it. He knew she didn’t like him. He felt like an idiot as he tightened his fists at his sides, but then the tension released from them once a wave of sadness came over him. “I have to go.” He quickly brushed past her and the group around the corner.  

Elf Archer caught up to him. “Wait! She didn’t mean that!” She tried to defend. “She took it the wrong way if you just explain-”

“No,” he stopped and spun on his heel to look at her, then hung his head low in sorrow. “I told her how I felt, and she said we’re just friends. I should have taken the hint the first time.” Then he walked away again, leaving the archer behind.

He kept walking until he made it to the guildhall. He stared up at the big doors, contemplating if he should go inside. Before he knew it, he was already at his usual spot, standing at the tall table on the side of the room, a drink in his hand. He took a sip and felt the burn of the alcohol down his throat. He almost took another sip before a hand rested on his. Priestess stood there with a sad smile.

“I know you’re hurt, Goblin Slayer,” she started, “but I think you’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

He looked at her, debating on whether or not he should listen to another courting method.

“You just need to be yourself, just like Cowgirl said,” she took her hand off his and held her staff to her chest. “You know (Y/n), so only you know how to get through that thick skull of hers.” She smiled as she looked to the door behind him, and he looked too.

There (Y/n) stood. She had a worried expression on her face as she scanned the crowd of adventurers. Her eyes eventually landed on him. He turned to face her to look approachable as Priestess walked away. (Y/n) made her way over to him and stood in front of him. “Did I upset you earlier? I’m sorry if I said something wrong,” she apologized.

He sighed as his helmet tilted downwards. The priestess’s words echoed in his head as he thought of what to do next. He looked back up to her and held her hand. “Will you follow me?” She nodded her head, and he led her out of the guild, still holding her hand. They kept walking for sometime before coming up to a secluded garden in the town. It was night now, so no one but them was there. He brought her over to the side of the fountain, where no one could see them if someone peeked in. He held both her hands in his as he stared at her. 

“Do you have something you need to say?” She asked as she noticed his silence.

He took a deep breath before speaking. “These past couple of days, I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you how I really feel. I listened to a lizard, I listened to a dwarf, and honestly, I should have listened to the elf more. But then a priestess told me how I needed to be myself, and I realized that I need to follow my heart.” He stared at her, squeezing her hands before saying his next words. “I love you.” She opened her mouth to speak, and he cut her off. “Not in a friendly way, in a romantic way. I’m in love with you and have been for a while now.”

(Y/n) was at a loss for words as she stared at the stoic slayer. There wasn’t any way she could confuse this with general kindness. “I-I-” she started to stutter as she looked down. His heart began to sink at another rejection. “I love you too!” His head jolted up at her confession.

“Really?” He almost sounded excited.

“Y-yeah, I just didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to assume- plus, I thought you were just being nice, but I guess I was wrong about that.” She giggled to herself at the end.

He stared at the girl for a long time before a blush erupted on her face. That’s when he finally spoke. “Can I kiss you?”

Her eyes widened slightly at his request, but she gave a shy nod. He let go of her hands to remove his helmet and tucked it underneath his arm. She had seen his face before at the festival, but it had been a while since then. This time she memorized his features; fluffy ashen hair that dropped in front of his red eyes, two scars stuck out on his left cheek, but they only added to his beauty. He held her chin delicately between his finger and thumb and pressed a kiss onto her lips. It didn’t last long before he pulled away and put his helmet back on. She assumed he was being shy and gave him a bashful smile.

“So, you’ll be mine?” He asked.

(Y/n) nodded her head. “Of course.”

[muwur]

snapchat headcanons

✧ hc’s ✧ for using snapchat w ur boi toi ft. the pretty setter squad

❧ gn reader

✎ 3.1k words

a/n: kinda a combo of how they use sc and the kinds of snaps they send you! along w wat u send them, and uh... dating stuf n shenanigans? texting/snapping habits? my fantasies? IDEK ANYMORE EOFHEFJ

this was born from the recesses of my mind , which desired nothing mor than snapchats from suga , us sending cute selfies , others bein dumb n chaotic , no context videos , n him snapping me photos of some mangoes on sale he said he’ll buy for me DXX it’s too late for me now

doing research on hq bois and surfing thru sc features (im just now realizing theres quite a bit?? im hoping i address most of them at some point lolol) instead of real life tings aHHhhhHAHA

requests: open! will be working on a suga one i got, dw, requester!

sugawara

✧ sends good morning and good night snaps

✧ so he’s rlly good at keeping streaks, probs has the longest ones (one of them being y’alls streak)

✧ posts tidbits of volleyball practice on his story every once in a while

✧ snaps you pics of his sleeping teammates when they’re coming back to school after a long day of matches , adding a single ‘❤️’ as a caption

✧ he will also create colorful masterpieces on all of them

✧ gives daichi a santa beard, tanaka a squiggly stache (i imagine it to look like spongebob n patrick’s seaweed ones now that were mEN), n kageyama sum angry brows,,, wait he already has them lolol u good der kags

✧ posts a picture of you when you’re hanging out, captioning it: “🥰“

✧ has conversations with you purely via snaps

✧ ranges from casual chats and checking up on u to crackwhoring ( ** indicates the photo, while the “” quotes indicate the caption, all snaps are italicized, otherwise its regular dialogue)

✧ suga: *peace sign* “hey sweetheart, how r u?”

✧ you: *pics of homework* “ahh, drowning in school ;-; i cant wait for this week to be over fghjkl”

✧ suga: *close up with :o on his face* “let’s study together tmrw!”

✧ or

✧ suga: *complete darkness* “its 3 am n i cant sleep”

✧ you: *the top half of your head, laying on a pillow* “ ;( aw babe. do u want me to send something to help u sleep?”

✧ suga: *still in darkness* “y u still up?? go sleep. n 🥺 yes pls”

✧ you: *snaps pics of feet* “that’ll be 50 bucks, pay up” 

✧ suga: *darkness remains* “can we make a trade instead? i promise to make it worth ;)”

✧ ok now u BOTH cant sleep (im sry my crackheading be acting up around 2am eeryday, i stan a mischievous suga--)

✧ video chats (in the darkness lol) instead until you both pass out (im not in luv u r 😭)

✧ super down to take filtered selfies w you

✧ does all the silly ones with you (things like ’angry face’ or the frog one)

✧ but also rlly digs lookin cute with you using some heart crowns, y’all an aesthetic (n crakhead) duo fosho

✧ def subscribes to life hacks and tries them out himself, has a 50% success rate

kageyama

✧ doesn’t rlly use snapchat too much

✧ but when he does

✧ will either send you a picture to indicate he’s at volleyball practice (wow wat a sexi lookin gym floor)

✧ or some random picture of whatever he’s doing at the moment (*drinking milk*)

✧ this is mostly in order to save streaks

✧ he’s so bad at streaks

✧ “why does it matter?? what’s the point of sending just black screens or whatever’s in front of you at the moment??”

✧ can’t keep a consistent streak for more than 3 days and also doesn’t care (until hinata challenges him to see who can have the longer one)

✧ when you send him videos of him playing, he really focuses on them to try to improve his technique. asks you to send those vids to him (assuming u saved them, which u did)

✧ but when you look over his shoulder when he’s watching a video and give him some compliment (“i recorded at the perfect moment! that was a really good set, kageyama!”), he gets a bit flustered

✧ gets even more flustered but pretty happy whenever you post videos on your story showing karasuno winning some points with captions like:

✧ “footage of the legendary quick >.>” or “karasuno crows flyin high!” or “these bois make my heart 😭 im so proud”

✧ you WILL catch him off guard in photos, using filters that surrounds his head w/ emojis like 🥺💖🥰💘

✧ you also put these on your story (to his dismay)

✧ ppl comment on these mor than anything else (n for those who dont rlly kno kageyama, theyre kinda surprised to him like this)

✧ hinata snickers “hey kageyama you look pretty good here--”

✧ takes some selfies with you, mostly cuz you want them

✧ saves them after u send them over (n secretly cherishes them)

✧ occasionally watches his subscriptions, they’ll usually involve sports, mostly volleyball (who woulda guessed)

✧ you use his bitmoji to test out random facial expressions you would never see him wear

✧ you: “can you smile and wink like this? act like you’re the obnoxious charming guy in a shojo.”

✧ will actually attempt, but it looks so bad that you die inside and he never wants to try again cuz of ur laughing outburst (you: “😭😭 bb im sorry i couldnt help it”)

oikawa

✧ literally sends you anything and everything

✧ morning bathroom selfie to show off how good his hair came out that day, saying:

✧ “he has risen”

✧ or “i woke up like this”

✧ and my favorite, “you’re lucky you get this content for frEE”

✧ selfies with iwa, who just looks annoyed and exasperated at the camera

✧ sends you pics of his lunch and snacks (“bet u wish u had milk bread too”)

✧ always packs extra milk bread so he could convince you to stay at his practice after school--

✧ FILTERSS

✧ I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENUF

✧ will either use the filters that make him kayooottt (cute)

✧ loves the ones named ‘hearts,’ ‘soft,’ ‘peach,’ ‘butterfly cheeks,’ vsco filters LOL, etc

✧ uses ‘big mouth’ when he feelin a bit sASSY; also loves to use this one when he rants, it channels his inner valley girl

✧ sometimes he’ll be snacking or drinking something while he does so (“hey guys today im gonna eat these milk buns from my favorite bakery and this bomb orange juice and complain about this little kid who talked smack to me earlier and almost made me cry--”)

✧ takes cute selfies with you, is an aesthetic selfie king, puts them on his story to show off he’s hangin with you

✧ but on your story you only post the ones he looks bad in LOL

✧ has separate stories for his every need, some r private (and lucky you, ur included in all of them)

✧ titles them ‘mean things iwa said to me today,’ ‘ranting hotbox + mukbangs,’ ‘a day in the life of oikawa,’ ‘volleyball 🏐,’ ‘unpopular opinions,’ etc. 

✧ fitting room photoshoots lol

✧ “y/n, what do you think of this??” “and this?” “oOH WHAT ABOUT THIS??”

✧ ends up calling you through video chat so you can live critique his choices

✧ “oikawa, please no, i can’t be seen with you in public if you wear those--”

✧ also changes his bitmoji’s outfits from time to time, hopes you’ll notice, but you don’t LOL (oikawa: ;((((((( )

kenma

✧ uses sc usually just to reply to messages ppl send him

✧ indifferent about streaks, but keeps a few with ppl he’s closer to

✧ mindlessly plays the snapchat games with you, finds some of them kinda cute

✧ you both made his bitmoji for him, dressing his up in the orange cat suit

✧ you also helped make kuroo’s and put his in the black cat suit to match--

✧ snaps you every time he gets a new game, starts playing it, and once he finishes

✧ started to post some gameplays and reviews on his sc story (might as well add them to sc since he was already on other social platforms), and ended up amassing a large following

✧ follows the tech and gaming stories on sc

✧ as well as the ones with cute animals--

✧ open to selfies with you, usually wears a calm expression and holds up a peace sign

✧ even occasionally sticks his tongue out

✧ his story is occasionally heavily bombarded with candids of him w/ pretty sc filters, all taken by you

✧ but of all the filters, you love using the clout glasses on him

✧ especially when he’s just minding his own business

✧ “kenma, in his tru habitat” when hes cocooned in a blanket

✧ “kenma, on his way to steal yo manz” while on his way to the bathroom

✧ “kenma, next iron chef. watch out gordon” as he’s cooking instant ramen

✧ “kenma” n das it

✧ but he thinks it meme-y so he lets you do whatever you want, kinda digs it

✧ you end up dedicating your snap story to memes of kenma and the nekoma volleyball team. ppl are in it for the shits n giggles n hot bois

✧ you later discover someone else did the same thing with their volleyball team filled with hot bois from shiratorizawa, and you befriend tendou and share funni internet tings

akaashi

✧ 99% of his photos include either you or bokuto or both

✧ bokuto spams akaashi’s story and contact list with selfies and videos of himself using weird filters, often gets you to join him

✧ has several streaks, but will send something with more substance than a black screen or his bedroom window

✧ will usually involve smthng that just happened to him or smthing he saw, like:

✧ “a kind older lady offered me some apples in return for helping her”

-or:

✧ “how do i break the news to bokuto that the yaikniku place he’s been wanting to go to for the past week ,,, is closed today”

✧ o n let’s not leave out:

✧ “is it possible to conjure a ghost using a wooden spatula, ketchup, and a chalk drawn hexagram? bokuto’s been paranoid ever since he tried last night and i dont know what to tell him. seriously, help”

✧ looks through stories occasionally, comments whenever bokuto makes questionable decisions

✧ also comments on whatever you’ve posted. his words range from “you’re cute” to “why,” depending on the content

✧ ppl know when y’all are hanging out cuz he’ll post smthing to indicate he’s with you, usually it’s some candid and you’re not paying attention

✧ appreciation posts for you as well! esp if you got him something, like onigiri or his fav, Nanohana no Karashiae , for lunch! (akaashi: *snaps a pic of his food* “thank you y/n for feeding me”)

✧ prefers video calling over texting/snapping whenever possible tho

✧ occasionally reminisces thru his sc memories

✧ enjoys the flashback feature and will send them to you and bokuto (cuz they’re about y’all anyway lolol)

✧ also has secretly saved a bunch of selfies of himself, consists of him trying out a lot of the filters (he feelin himself)

✧ you, one day, looking thru his phone and discovering them: “akaashi, you’re so pretty wtf”

✧ akaashi: “...”

koganegawa

✧ sends you selfies of him before practice

✧ during breaks

✧ and after practice, usually makes a comment about how it went for him that day like:

✧  “i hit a decent toss today and futakuchi actually complimented me!”

✧ that, or:

✧ “i got yelled at 17 times today 😢😩”

✧ has quite a few streaks, his longest ones being with you and hinata

✧ def uses filters

✧ tries out every funny one he finds and sends you videos

✧ “look y/n im an aaaaAALlliiEEENnnNNN oo oo hoo hhhooOOh”

✧ “now im a chicky nuggy!!” (chicken nugget)

✧ also enjoys the doodle feature

✧ but he uses the filter with the clout glasses unironically--

✧ usually when smth good happens to him and he feels happy and/or cool about it

✧ “just beat the boss in this game on my 69th try B)”

✧ “kogane, that’s--”

✧ plays sc games with you and thinks bitmojis r cool

✧ kinda sad he cant find a hair option that matches him tho lolol rip

✧ you: “you hair’s just,,, unique,,,”

✧ subscribed to anything sports and fitness, as well as pop culture so he can stay in the loop

✧ also watches everyone else’s stories, pointing out whenever he sees smthing cool and/or interesting

✧ “woahh, karasuno’s at nationals right now! i wish we could’ve won, but next year for sure!!”

✧ you encourage him at all his games, hyping him up irl and online

✧ “koganegawa: best setter 😍!!”

✧ luckily you didnt record the parts he completely messed up LOL

semi

✧ before going out with you, snaps you a pic of his casual outfit like:

✧ semi: “does this look ok”

✧ you: “babe you look great, tendou was just messing with you”

✧ will make unwanted appearances on tendou’s snap and complains to you about them

✧ “i didnt consent to being part of his meme page” and

✧ “okay, but he didn’t only have to share all the moments i messed up--”

✧ also indifferent about streaks but will do them

✧ sometimes sends snaps/streaks indicating he’s practicing his music

✧ when you see these you usually ask him to send you vids or if you can come over n watch

✧ initially is a bit shy about it but he loves what he does and you and knows you’re genuinely interested and supportive so he agrees

✧ secretly rlly enjoys having you as his personal audience

✧ lowkey into asmr, like the soap cutting shit as well as chewing crunchy things

✧ also watches food porn and clips of mukbangs, then can’t resist going on youtube and watching the whole thing

✧  “y/n, can we try this, it looks so good--”

✧ will also often watch oikawa’s stories, especially his ‘ranting hotbox + mukbangs,’ and makes comments about him being an idiot

✧  “this kid he’s talking about is a savage”

✧ but admits they’re quite entertaining

✧ just looks serious in all the selfies you take with him

✧ you: “can you look like you’re enjoying yourself?”

✧ semi: “i look cooler like this tho”

✧ sc memories filled with shenanigans from you and the volleyball team, doodles, and mirror selfies with him experimenting diff looks (you: “tendou, you got him way too concerned about this”)

✧ also enjoys showing off he’s with you, taking a short video of you when you hang out

✧ you: “semi, i look bad right now”

✧ semi: “but you can never look bad”

✧ you: “🥺 bb”

✧ viewers: “aw”

✧ shiratorizawa: “can he be this nice with us LOL”

shirabu

✧ his main mode of communication with you is mostly through the regular messaging app, so he doesn’t use sc too much

✧ also doesn’t care for streaks and is bad at keeping them

✧ will answer to you or his senpais rather soon tho

✧ but lets all his other notifications pile up a bit before finally going thru them

✧ goes through the snaps he receives really fast, spending like 2 seconds each to look at them cuz aint nobody got time for dat

✧ doesn’t even rlly open goshiki’s LOL

✧ you have fun using filters on him and taking videos while he’s just doing his own thing peacefully like studying

✧ it takes him a second to notice and when he finally looks up, he just gives you an exasperated look

✧ cue you cracking up with laughter bc the filter finally shows up on his face

✧ his eyes and mouth are now on mike wazowski

✧ that, or his face becomes so disturbingly moRPhed like an alien

✧ caption: “ken-chan, my future medical man 😍”

✧ “y/n, please, this is like the 7th time in the last 20 minutes--”

✧ finally convinced him to take a study break and hang out with you

✧ which usually consists of snacking and light banter while you lay your head on his lap

✧ and scrolling through snapchat stories and showing him what everyone else is up to and cool things you’re subscribed to

✧ “loooook, dr. miami’s doing another butt job! is this the line of work you’re studying so hard for?”

✧ “no, it’s really not”

✧ is actually very soft with you and likes having the photos and vids for memories

atsumu

✧ sends you snaps where his brother looks bad, captioning it:

✧ “this is evidence that im the hotter twin”

✧ likewise, osamu sends you snaps where atsumu looks even worse

✧ like, the mans passed out, looking rekt and open mouthed, drool seeping into his pillow

✧ osamu: “u still have time to break up with him”

✧ also lucky for you, atsumu also loves to take unflattering photos of you and send them to you randomly at like 2 am

✧ you: “nani tf when did you even take this??”

✧ usually posts a snap while he’s out somewhere like at a match, the gym, outside on a run, a party, or just hanging out with you or his frens

✧ however, makes sure you look good if you show up on his story cuz he wants to show you off

✧ doesn’t really care for streaks, but has a lott

✧ but also has a tON of unopened snaps

✧ is the type to send just a black screen n call it a day, or maybe spice it up by sending a pic of the sexi gym floor (a comeback) w his shoe in the corner

✧ will, however, consistently respond to you and kinda looks forward to ur snaps (secretly hopes you show ur face)

✧ but when you dont:

*in class*

✧ atsumu: *a smirk on his face* “your content’s kinda dry today” 

✧ you: *your sexi desk* “my nudez ain’t free, i demand compensation”

✧ atsumu: *grasped his chin in thought, but angled the cam up bc he needa hide his phone in class lolol* “what if i... take you out on a romantic excursion”

✧ you: * your face but with ‘sausage’ filter* “🥵🥵🥵🥵 yessir, what u want”

✧ rlly only wants to have pics of your face wat a closeted sOFTIE

✧ likes to have content on his flashbacks

✧ usually has other social media sources to keep up to date with things

✧ actually rlly digs using sc filters, mostly ones that’ll make him look like a queen

✧ captions a selfie of you two like: “me >>>>>>> y/n”

✧ but nearly everyone who comments on it is like: “i think you flipped the sign, bro 🤥”

✧ judges ppl who are into soap cutting asmr (you will never hear the end of it if you also like it)

a/n: sc kinda dying for me, my use went from suga to an atsumu to like nearly nonexistent LOL

also o gawd i already have ideas here n there for a pt 2 so stay tuned fjxnwfesd hope it takes me less long cuz this one took me fkin foreva LOL

idk y i made semi like mukbangs but i feel like he’d be rlly into them--

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 3

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Peter always unapologetically stealing all the uwus. It’s the MCU law, sorry, didn’t make it. Tony Stark can ✨rail me✨. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings​ @vozit​ @littlegasps​ @pilloclock​ @shereadsinquiet​

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves THE WORLD! I’m not kidding. Please visit her and show her some love, my homegirl is stressed 💖✨

I didn’t see Bruce nor Tony for a week. The doctor was away on some science conference (he sent me one dorky selfie next to a whiteboard full of barely intelligible equations as proof), Tony was in California, having some sort of a board meeting. How do I know? Peter, out of lack of better things to do, constantly texted me updates on his science patron’s whereabouts and what-abouts.

In times like these, it took me for a loop - I was on a first name basis with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. In the beginning, I was intimidated - I avoided them both like the plague and tinkered in the lab with headphones on whenever I could, until Tony made a comment so snarky I couldn’t resist joking back. That’s not to say Bruce was a social butterfly, but even he gave into my tomfoolery after seeing me stand calmly throughout several of Tony’s hissy fits.

What amazed me even more so was that despite Tony being literally an insufferable little brat, I still longed after him. Sure, the man was hot as hell - but his physical traits were much less significant when it came to my feelings towards him than the amount of sheer drive and willpower he possessed. He was stubborn - that’s another trait we shared - and unapologetically himself in every damn situation.

I could write poetry about the million expressions in his face, about the shine in his eyes.

But I won’t. He’s a technical guru. Ever since I started hanging around the tower, I became much more conscious about what I posted online. Not to say I had a Stark fan blog or anything, but I’d stopped scrolling through the tag, even if I didn’t actually click on any articles. I dutifully reblogged pictures of Tom Ellis instead - while he was a very fine, distinguished man, he wasn’t Tony Stark. I enjoyed looking at the first and enjoyed being around the other. And even though my feed still had the occasional “I love arm” shitpost, I focused on aesthetic pictures and quotes instead - things I had an active internet presence for.

My personal life wasn’t very interesting. I didn’t have any close friends and any and all sex I’ve had was just a bunch of one night stands, fueled by alcohol, selfish lust and the occasional joint. Despite having a fair share of kind, generous lovers, the morning after left me feeling a little bit emptier every time. I thought about getting a boyfriend or something… But quickly became totally clueless as to where I could find one. Men under twenty-five could barely hold my interest long enough to have a casual chat and I wasn’t naive enough to think there were a lot of honest, well-intentioned thirty-somethings that wanted to date my high school ass.

Peter had a crush on me, I knew that. The boy developed one or another kind of feelings for anybody who showed him the tiniest bit of kindness and it alarmed me. In any other case I would have bailed on him, gently, of course, to spare him the disappointment but my selfishness got in the way. I regretted it every day. A wave of desperation rose in me every time I thought about moving on without seeing Tony or Bruce, without Peter shyly smiling at me as he explained how the things he created worked. A faint hope that one day, his schoolboy puppy love will grow into a brotherly kind of regard was the only thing that kept me afloat in my sea of guilt.

As the Fall rolled around, so did my gloomy mood. It was hard to be sad when the sun was shining and the birds were chirping outside, but with clouds hanging over the city like a lead curtain, the bottled up negativity rose to the surface uninvited. Mother had returned from her business trip, adding an uncomfortable, hollow sort of chill to the house wherever she stood. I don’t know what was worse - the hours we spent in one room ignoring each other or the immaculately structured questions she asked me about my studies and extra-curriculars. Mother didn’t ask me about my friends, or my feelings or any of the other things a mother was supposed to give a damn about.

I was an asset to her company and that was that. If you would have asked her, she would tell you I’m old enough for her to mind her own business - which was technically true. Yet according to her, I’ve been old enough since seventh grade. My dad answered his messages sporadically, sometimes with a two-word answer and sometimes with a cocaine and booze fueled rant eleven texts long. I felt sorry for him. I really did.

My phone was blowing up. Party invitations, likes from people I saw once or twice (“oh my god, you’re, like, so hot, what’s your Insta”), DMs from guys looking to score an easy piece of ass. I never answered. If I wanted to party, I just sort of showed up and everybody went along with it. I took care of my appearance and it showed - never once was I turned away from a party. Everyone wanted to dance, to share their drinks, to light up and get faded together and fade into the city, into the cold air and grey sky.

Skirt swaying and top clinging to my chest, I danced. The sweaty, heated bodies around me did the same. Not one of us cared, it was a Tuesday night and the place packed way too many people. An arm snaked around my waist, startling me. I had to begrudgingly crack open an eye to see the bastard in the dimly lit room.

“I saw you at the bar, you looked bored. Maybe you need something to cheer you up?”

So not a creepy rapist. Just your friendly neighborhood drug dealer. At house parties like these, there was always The Guy. He never danced, he sipped on the same drink all night yet always looked like he was having the time of his life. I was no stranger to the occasional joint, or even something more stimulating…

“I got the good stuff, sweetums, you’ll be fine and dandy in no time.”

Eh, what the hell. I inconspicuously danced with the guy to the middle of the crowd, exchanging a few crumpled dollar notes for a baggie of two pills. In no time, I chased one down with a hastily poured Jack.

The world did become better, as the drug dealer promised. People were nicer, friendlier and I almost didn’t believe mother was a useless, stone cold bitch. I almost didn’t care that I was deeply, madly in love with a man as unreachable as Olympus. If I squinted, the guy sitting at the bar looked kind of like Tony, tan, dark hair, worn jeans and a band tee.

So I danced. I danced and I stared right at him and then we danced some more. I closed my eyes, letting his arms grab me and pull me, I let his beard scratch my neck where he sucked a mark on me, I let his rough palms choke me against a wall in one of the bedrooms on the second floor of the house. It felt good to be wanted. It felt great to be needed as he rutted inside of me, hitting that sweet spot with every twitch of his hips.

It felt lonely when he left, pressing a kiss to my forehead and saying something dumb like “Be good, kid.”. I don’t remember what exactly it was, only that I had to turn my face away from his breath that reeked like weed and vodka.

To shake off the void that made home inside of my chest, I went to the roof to get some fresh air. The house had a nice patio on it - I actually knew the owner - that hosted more plants than I’d care to count. There was an ashtray and an abandoned pack of cigarettes. I greeted the faintly blooming sunrise surrounded by a cloud of smoke, shivering in the autumn mist.

Sounds of the party became less prominent with every passing minute as people geared up to go home and get a few winks of sleep before going to work. New Yorkers weren’t really thoughtful partying on a Tuesday, but then again, neither was I. The city always was busy - even then, at the crack of dawn, the dull throb of a bassline was rudely interrupted by a blaring car alarm followed by dogs barking in aggravation.

The more I sat there, the bleaker everything became. I had enough common sense to know I was just coming off the drug but for once, I had been happy and content for several hours without a care in the world. It had been too long since I felt that way and what’s a little low after a good high?

Mother left for her early conference at five AM sharp, I entered my house at five-thirty, making a beeline in the shower and immediately dumping my alcohol and cigarette soaked clothes into the wash with the smelliest detergent I could find. I gave similar treatment to my body and my hair, using the chemically-smelling products on my body and on my hair, brushing my teeth multiple times.

By the time I was leaving for school, only a faint smell lingered in the air where I’d previously entered, so I set the air freshener to automatically spray the obnoxious mist every ten minutes. Mother gets home at twelve for lunch, that should be more than enough time for any remnants of my partying to disappear into the lilac and lavender fumes.

The Valium I’d popped to deal with the aftermath of Molly made my brain sluggish. One look in the mirror and I hastily put my sunglasses on - the ashen colour of my face and the slightly crazed look wasn’t very complimentary to my complexion. The teacher didn’t give a damn. I stared blankly ahead of me for most part of first period.

“What happened to you? You look like hell!” Peter’s exclamation, while usually would’ve alarmed me, barely made a dent in my stupor.

“I feel like shit, too,” Admit what you can’t deny. Deny what you can’t admit. “I didn’t get any sleep. Like, at all.”

Peter frowned, the crease between his eyebrows growing deeper with every passing second. I flinched when his hand tentatively touched my forehead - the pounding in my temples slowed to a dull throbbing but it was still unpleasant when someone was all up in my space.

“Jesus, you’re as cold as a corpse. Maybe you should go see the nurse,” His worry bled into me too. Like hell I was going to the school nurse! They were specifically trained to recognize the signs of substance abuse.

“I’ll head home straight after school, I think we’ll have to skip our sciencing,” No way also I’d be letting Tony and Bruce see me like this. Oh my God, I was a mess. “Mother’s home.” I added. Even the emotional frostbite I’d get from being around her was more tolerable than being a downer for Peter and Tony.

Peter’s face immediately softened in sympathy. He knew almost everything about my relationship with my family, including him actually seeing my mother that one time. He told me she gave him the creeps and I don’t blame him at all. The stoicism that was required for her work made my mother an unbearable person to exist around outside of her fancy office on the top floor of a glass high-rise building.

“Okay, but promise to text me if it gets worse. You might have caught the autumn bug that’s been going around,” He obviously said the last part to calm himself down. Sweet little Peter, naïve child. I solemnly nodded nonetheless.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. Tony was being Tony, as usual, but in a strangely kind way. I suppose it should’ve made me feel better and it kind of did, but then it went downhill from there. I couldn’t explain why I started crying. I bawled my eyes out at how unfair this god-damned world was and when the doorbell rang… Let’s say, the delivery boy hightailed it out of there once the bag of takeout was deposited into my arms. I looked and felt ghastly.

I ate as much as I could and dropped into a restless nap, drifting in and out of sleep with exhausted exasperation. There had not been a time where I felt so low after popping a pill and I was equal parts alarmed and satisfied. For one, the drug dealer didn’t lie like they usually do - the stuff was good and I still had the other pill hidden away in a bottle of painkillers, inconspicuously mixed with other white pills but shape distinctive enough for me to recognize should I have need in taking it again.

The thought of well, taking it again, was fleeting. I had school tomorrow and a missed science bender to make up for. A few buzzes of my phone later, I felt happier. Better. Not so down anymore. I meant every word that I said - Bruce was very precious, kind and gentle. And so, warm and soft. And totally kissable.

Well, fuck. What do I do now?

[pixiegrl]

You Are My Horizon

Jack comes to visit Rian at work. Rian's hopelessly in love.

Alright lets take it from the top:

Bet you never saw ATL fic coming from me? Well, here it is. Once again, this is part of a larger fic I'm writing. I'm blaming Rian's v-day thirst trap and Jack just being, you know, Jack for writing this. The only important thing to know going into this is that Rian and Jack are dating, Jack is trans, and that Rian works at a tattoo parlor owned by Ashton and Calum. The tattoo parlor is across from the flower show Luke (also trans) and Michael (non-binary) own.

Second: big thanks to @tigerteeff for whom I write all trans content. Thanks for listening to me yell about Trans Jack he is a special boy and I love him. Thanks to @lifewasradical @cakelftv @blackbutterfliescal and @staticsounds for listening to me yell about this fic (and the flower shop/tattoo parlor verse) and telling me how emo in a good way this is. I love you all dearly.

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29500365

Rian’s sketching out the tattoo he’s designing when Jack comes into the back area of the parlor. He sighs dramatically, dropping himself into Rian’s lap and straddling him.

“Babe,” Jack whines.

“Hello to you too. Who’s watching Cam?”

“The puppy can be left alone for like an hour. I’ve been home all day. I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning.”

“That was hours ago. It’s like almost 5:00pm. I missed you,” Jack says, dropping his head down, resting it under Rian’s chin. Rian sighs, putting his pencil down and running his hands under Jack’s shirt. Jack sighs, pressing a kiss to Rian’s neck, easing into the touch. Rian likes Jack, all long legs and lean muscle, the contrast he is to Rian himself. He’s dyed his hair recently, a soft shade of blonde that contrasts with the dark hair of his beard. Rian remembers how excited Jack was about the beard when he started growing it, crowing that getting the hysterectomy finally helped him grow the hair that being on T didn’t. Jack’s painfully handsome these days, angled cheekbones and jaw framed by his beard, comfortable in his own skin. Jack has a soft smile on his face, as he pulls back, kissing Rian on the lips softly. 

They trade soft kisses for a few moments before Jack pulls back, grinning mischievously.

“No,” Rian says.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“You may not suck my dick at my place of work.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sanitizing the whole workstation.”

Jack sighs dramatically, flopping onto Rian, “But you have to do that anyway.”

“And I’m not letting you get this place dirty. Or risking someone walking in on us Jack, these are my co-workers.”

“Spoil sport,” Jack says. Rian huffs a laugh, letting Jack steal his snapback and put it on. He snuggles into Rian’s side, watching him sketch out the flowers.

“What’s this one?”

“Tattoo for a client. She wants a whole bouquet for flowers for her family.”

“Isn’t that Sierra’s thing? The flowers?”

“She wants it in watercolor.”

“So your speciality.”

“My speciality,” Rian says. Jack hums, getting a hand underneath Rian’s shirt, tracing his abs lightly as he keeps watching Rian. He has to be uncomfortable, at the angle he’s at but Jack makes no move to change his position.

“Why don’t you head home? I have to finish this sketch up and it’s not going to be very interesting for you,” Rian says, after Jack shifts for the fifth time in ten minutes.

“I don’t want to head home though. Wanna go with you.”

“You drove your car here Jack. You’d be going home without me anyway.”

“I don’t want to go home and wait around for you though. I want to wait here, with you. I want to spend time with you,” Jack says, pouting lightly. Rian sighs, heart soft. He ducks his head down pressing a kiss to Jack’s temple. Jack laughs, scrunching his nose up. He rests his head on Rian’s shoulder, watching as Rian works on the sketch around Jack’s long limbs.

“You know, I didn’t see myself being 32,” Jack says, just barely above a whisper. Rian stops what he’s doing, turning his attention to the boyfriend in his lap.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. At 15 I didn’t see myself making it to 20. I was a depressed teen, self-harming because I hated the way I looked and that I couldn’t understand what was going on. I thought I’d kill myself before 20 trying to figure it out. Then, I was 20 and I couldn’t see myself at 25. I finally had the words to understand what I was feeling and who I was, but then you’re going through therapists and doctors, people are giving you papers and reports and explanations and telling you how much money it all is to just be yourself. I thought I’d die under the stress of it all, the constant feeling of just having to fight to be myself,” Jack says, shrugging. 

He picks at the edge of Rian’s shirt, pulling at a loose thread there, head resting on Rian’s shoulder, nose touching his neck. Rian puts his pencil down, stroking his hand over Jack’s back, letting Jack nuzzle into him. They sit there for a few moments in silence before Rian finally works up the courage to ask Jack his question.

“What about at 25?” Rian asks, soft, squeezing Jack’s hip lightly.

“I got the right therapist. I went on T. They finally approved things and I had the money for my top surgery. There was light at the end of the tunnel. And then I met you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I love who I am, don’t get me wrong. I love being trans and I love being myself and I’m happy with myself. It took me so long to get there, but I love myself. But it’s hard, when you’re two months out of top surgery, when your voice still cracks, when you’re worried about how everyone else will see you, to picture someone loving you the way you love yourself. Especially when they look like you,” Jack says. He tilts his head up, looking at Rian, eyes a little wet. Rian laughs, breathless, at the idea of it all. 

He remembers meeting Jack with the sort of clarity that only comes with the certainty of knowing that this is your person, with the knowledge to capture this moment, so you can tell your family, your friends, write it into your wedding vows, tell it to your children. Alex had invited him to the back to school brunch he hosted with Lisa every year before school started. Rian had grumbled about it, considering he’s not a teacher what does it matter, but Alex has insisted that as his oldest friend Rian should come (he found out later Alex had intentionally done it to try and set him and Jack up, but Rian can’t really be mad about it). He’d found Jack, with his grown out emo fringe and home dyed red hair, standing by the music, trying to hijack it to play Blink-182 and complaining that Alex never let him have his way. Rian had found himself hopelessly enamored, listening to Jack rant about music and the merits of not teaching Romeo and Juliet to bored teens when Shakespeare has better plays. Rian had been so caught up in what Jack was saying, he hadn’t even noticed brunch had ended until Alex kicked them both out. Brunch had led to late lunch, led to dinner, led to Rian taking Jack for ice cream just so he didn’t have to leave, giving Jack his number and waiting for a phone call. Rian doesn’t think there’s ever been a time he wasn’t enamored by Jack, hopelessly in love with him from the moment Jack had demanded to see Rian’s Blink-182 tattoo. 

“What do you mean someone who ‘look like me’?”

“Handsome, masculine, rugged. You’re a tattoo artist and you work out and you’re like the kind of guy I wanted to be when I was a teen except I’m not. I’m me and there’s nothing wrong with me, but like compared to you. I’m the dorky English teacher. I’m all tall and lanky and stuff.”

“I love dorky English teacher Jack.”

“I know you do. You look at me with such love and adoration it hurts sometimes. The first time you told me you loved me I went home and cried,” Jack says. He’s sitting up now, arms draped over Rian’s shoulders, tears in his eyes. Rian, reaches up, brushing them away. 

“You did what?” Rian asks, quiet.

“I cried. I cried because you were everything teenage Jack dreamed of and couldn’t have. You loved me and loved me and you didn’t care that my voice cracked or about the scars or about anything else that made me feel self-conscious at the time because it was new and fresh. The first time you called me your boyfriend I didn’t know what to do. I felt so special and loved. You just loved me and it felt so real. And I was 25 and for the first time, I could picture myself at 30, at 40, at 50 because I could picture my life, I could picture sharing my life with you. And now I’m 32 and I want to tell teenage Jack that it’s worth it, all the waiting is worth it because you’re here. You’re here and I love you so much Ri,” Jack says. He’s crying now, eyes red, nose red. Rian pulls him into a hug, realizes he’s crying too.

“Well, I love you. You’re a hurricane and I never expected to fall in love the way I did with you, but god did I. I was so worried that first day if I let you go home, if I let you leave, you’d forget all about me. Except you kept calling me and texting me and then you practically moved into my house and I didn’t want to let you go. We have a home, a life, a dog. It’s everything I pictured when I was 17 and realized I liked guys too.” 

“Guess we’re just stuck together,” Jack says, sniffling. Rian laughs, a little wet, pulling Jack into a hug. 

“Guess we are.” 

“Think Ash will let you leave early? I wanna go home now and I don’t wanna wait for you.” 

“Yeah. I don’t have any more appointments and I can take the sketches home.” 

“Good. I think we deserve some pizza and white claws,” Jack says, solemnly. He’s smiling though and Rian’s hopelessly in love with him.

It isn’t till the drive home, which Rian barely managed to get to because Jack kept kissing him against his car, refusing to just let Rian get in the car and drive home so they could have dinner and cuddle, that Rian wonders what’s stopping him from making this permanent. They live together, they have a dog, Jack’s all but told Rian he sees them as forever and Rian feels the same way. What’s stopping Rian from just proposing? 

He takes the thought with him for the next week, searching for rings on his off time, trying to get other people’s opinions on what Jack might like until Rian finally decides on a simple black band for the ring. He ends up in the flower shop the next week, deciding that Jack deserves nice flowers for a proposal.

Luke is at the counter, fixing up a floral arrangement when Rian comes in. He looks up, surprised, blushing a little. Rian’s not dumb, he knows Luke has a crush on him. He also knows Luke has a crush on Jack and a major crush on Ashton, so he’s pretty sure Luke is just falling for anyone he thinks is cute until Ashton finally kisses him.

“Rian, hi! What brings you in? More flowers for the shop?”

“Flowers for Jack. I want to propose and I thought the sweetest man deserved some flowers to go with it.”

Luke looks at Rian in awe, lips parted in an “o.” 

“You’re going to propose?” Luke whispers. Rian furrows his brow, confused at Luke’s surprise, until he remembers that Luke’s trans too. Luke’s trans and he’s probably having the same reaction Jack did the first time he and Rian went to pride and Jack saw other people like them together, the idea that they weren’t alone. It softens Rian’s heart even more. He gets the older brother affection Jack has for Luke and Michael, the need to care for them. It’s hard not to when Luke’s staring at him, all wide blue eyes and open wonder.

“Yeah. Figured my boyfriend of seven years deserves to be my husband forever. Have some roses for it?” Rian says. Luke beams, hurrying around the counter, pulling out red roses to make a bouquet, bouncing with excitement. It’s infectious, making Rian even more excited to propose to Jack, seeing how excited Luke is, smiling the whole time. Ashton let him out of work early too, so he could be home to make dinner with Jack when he gets back from school. 

Rian’s anxious the whole drive home, flowers in the passenger seat, tapping his hands nervously on the steering wheel. What if he’s overthinking this whole thing? What if he’s fucking up the best thing in his life by proposing? What if all the nice words Jack said don’t mean marriage, they just mean staying together? What if Rian’s about to make the stupidest decision of his life? 

Jack’s car is already in the driveway when Rian gets back. He wasn’t expecting Jack to beat him home. It makes the pit in his stomach open wider, makes him even more anxious. He drops his keys five times before he finally manages to get them into the lock and open the door. 

“Ri?” Jack calls when Rian’s through the door. Camden comes sprinting through the house, barking excitedly at Rian until he picks him up, holding him in one arm while trying to keep the roses out of the way. 

“Yeah. You’re home early.” 

“Took the rest of my shit home. Why the fuck should I grade bad essays on The Odyssey at my desk when I can grade them on our couch while you yell at Jeopardy.” 

“I don’t yell at Jeopardy,” Rian says, offended.  

“Yes you do babe,” Jack says. Rian drops his bag by the front of the kitchen, placing the flowers on the counter and Cam on the floor. Jack’s back is turned to him, watching the chicken quesadillas he’s making in the pan intensely. Rian sneaks up behind him, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist and running his hands over Jack’s hip bones, resting his chin on Jack’s shoulder. Jack sighs, leaning back into the touch. 

“Hi,” Rian says softly, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.  

“Hi,” Jack says, turning his head to get a kiss from Rian. He glances over Rian’s shoulder, perking up when he notices the flowers on the counter. 

“You bought flowers?” 

“I did.” 

“For your other lover?” Jack teases, abandoning the pan to turn around in Rian’s arms, kiss him softly. Rian smiles, tugging Jack closer, kissing his lips, his neck. Jack laughs, squirming in his arms. 

“You can’t kiss me like that while I’m cooking. We’ll start a fire,” Jack says. Rian rolls his eyes, letting Jack play with his hair. 

“I missed you,” Rian says softly. Jack snorts. 

“It was only 8 hours babe,” he teases. 

“You didn’t text me today. I’m used to you texting me.” 

“The teens were being wild today. I don’t remember this much drama when I was their age,” Jack says. Rian rolls his eyes, pulls Jack in for a hug. 

Jack eventually wiggles from Rian’s hold, turning back to the stove. Camden’s flopped down next to them, sighing heavily. Rian swallows, hand in his pocket fingering the ring box. 

“Hey Jack?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you marry me?” Rian asks, sinking to one knee, pulling the box out. 

“Very funny Ri,” Jack says, turning to face him. Whatever else he was going to say dies as he takes in the sight of Rian on the floor. 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Holy shit,” Jack breathes out. 

“I’m not the English teacher, but I have a whole speech planned. You know, the moment I met you, I knew. I saw you standing in the corner of Alex’s living room, yelling at him to pick better music and I knew. I wanted to commit everything to memory because that was the memory I wanted to tell everyone at our wedding. I’ve known since the minute you demanded to see my tattoo in front of everyone and practically stripped me shirtless that I wanted to marry you. You’re it for me Jack. When I was 17 and scared shitless at the idea that I liked men, I didn’t know what to do. I never felt confident or comfortable enough to come out, to be myself, to picture myself with someone like you. And then I met you and it’s all I could picture. You made me comfortable with myself, happy with myself. Your endless love and support and just being reminds me everyday how lucky I am to know you, to have met you, to have you love me. You’ve never given a shit about my depression or the way I am or my anxiety. You just remind me of brighter days, of the idea that I’m allowed to have this, to have your love. I can’t picture my life without you, without loving you. I want forever. So, will you marry me?” Rian asks. 

“Yes, what the fuck yes! Of course I’ll fucking...come here!” Jack shouts, dragging Rian up to him. He pulls Rian in for a kiss, bumped noses and teeth because they’re too excited to kiss properly. Jack leans back, tears running down his cheeks, smiling widely. 

“I was worried for a minute,” Rian jokes, pulling the ring from the box and sliding it onto Jack’s finger. Jack holds his hand out admiring it. 

“Like I would say no. Maybe all the coffee has fired your brain cells,” Jack teases. He turns to Rian, kissing him again, softer this time. 

“You never know.”

“Hell would freeze over before I said no to marrying you. You’re the love of my life,” he says, quietly. Rian smiles, pressing another kiss to his lips. 

“Hey, is something burning?” Rian asks after a few moments, when he realizes he smells smoke. 

“Oh shit!” Jack yells, turning frantically to fix the burning quesadillas, fanning the smoke to stop it from setting off the smoke detector. Rian laughs, helpless in the face of Jack’s panic, Camden’s distressed barking. It’s perfect, it’s everything Rian’s ever wanted in life. It’s everything he’s wanted since he met Jack at Alex’s brunch. It’s the life he’s always wanted.

[nancythebisexualslutwheeler]

I’m Coming Home to You

Please read this and validate me.. I wrote this monster in like three hours. XX T 

Part One  Part Two 

He texts Eddie probably too soon. He’s barely folded himself into an uncomfortable seat to wait for the airplane and he only forces himself to send a text to Sarah, before he sends one to Eddie.

From your number: One step closer to home man!

His phone chirps nearly instantly,

From Edward Kaspbrak: I’m glad. Are you in pain?

Physical? Absolutely not. Mental anguish that Eddie thinks he’s playing a game with him because he couldn’t man up and kiss him back? Um, yes.

From your number: I’m fine. Can’t wait to get back home and hit the booze though.

From Edward Kaspbrak: No plane drinking for you?

From your number: And end up crying into the lap of a random stranger? No thanks.

From Edward Kaspbrak: I offered to go with you. You played yourself.

He sends the shrugging emoji and Richie bursts into laughter.

From your number: I’m scared.

From Edward Kaspbrak: I know. Doesn’t mean I love you any less.

Richie’s heart pounds. This is what he means. He can’t do this, he can’t. Their chance is over. They could have had so much, everything. High school and college and they could have gotten married dammit. But nope. Now he’s middle aged and the thought of Eddie saying those words directly to his face, makes him want to vomit.

He puts Eddie on do not disturb, thinks better of it and then powers down the entire phone. He’s having difficulty breathing, and he’s convinced it’s not all entirely his lung.

Richie takes three weeks off to recover, reschedules eight shows and loses about ten grand. His ankle is healed, as well as his head but his lung still hurts if he moves too quickly and he still has this disgusting scar on his face. That’s gonna cost a pretty penny to fix.

He flies out to New York to see Sarah for a few days, and he’s been keeping regular contact with the Losers.

Him and Eddie are.. well. They talk on the phone. Every night. Eddie’s healing up, back to work- analyzing risks- or whatever that bullshit meant. Plugging along with his divorce from Myra. Begging Richie to see him.

Richie avoided it at all costs, terrified of seeing him. So he rambled about his day, his new set, everything.

Richie’s a touch nervous about his show. He’s been laying lower than low since his accident, making extremely sure no one saw him before he was damn well ready.

And apparently that time was gone because he’d no more than ordered his iced latte when some teenager who in all reality is a little too young to be watching his sets, asks for a picture.

It takes him over an hour to get out of the small coffee shop, and that’s only because a manager comes out, pissed.

He doesn’t even want his watered down latte any longer. He angrily throws the coffee into a nearby garbage can and rests heavily against the wall of the building. If even that little interaction was too much, how was he going to get through an entire set tonight?

His phone rings and he has every intention of letting it go to voicemail, until he sees it’s his manager, Steve.

“Hey-o.”

“Rich man, what the fuck were you thinking?! You want to get attacked or something?!”

“I’m barely famous,” Richie says flippantly, hoping he’s not going to get actually yelled at because he can not handle that right now.

“You’re a fucking bum from Maine who somehow got signed with the top comedian company and was promised two back to back tours before you even took pen to paper. Not to mention you nearly died Richie.”

He’s getting sick of hearing those words come out of Steve, and his wife’s mouth. The first entire week he’d been back, he’d stayed with them. He’d gained like fifteen pounds from all the home cooked meals. He’d taken a bubble bath. With epsom salt. So he knows how Steve feels about his accident, he does.

“I just wanted to be normal. For once.” Richie admits quietly.

Steve laughs lightly,

“Me too. Maybe if you were normal, it wouldn’t be so hard being your manager.”

Richie knows it’s a joke, but the sudden thought that Steve wouldn’t want to manage him anymore. His wife is Christian, they have a daughter for Christ’s sake... they don’t need Richie being a bad influence. God, he was just going to get up there and make jokes without any care for anyone else. Not Steve. Not.. he who must not be named. (Okay this isn’t fucking Harry Potter, pull it together Rich.)

“Hey Steve?”

“Yes o favorite client of mine.”

“I made a new set.”

“I know. I am thrilled.”

“Well you may want to taper that back a little.”

“Rich? Is this one of your moments? Do I need to amp you up? Do we need to play Beyoncé?”

Richie is going to kill him. He doesn’t know how to do this. Come out. This is a problem for thirteen year old girls who realized they liked the taste of their best friends lip gloss during practice kissing rather than a boy’s bad breath during real kissing.

“Um, some of my jokes revolve around a guy.”

“Oh cool. You know, you’re not as ugly as you think, but the crowd does go wild for that self hate shit, mainly because your photo of you shirtless at the pool on Instagram got flagged as inappropriate content because people kept commenting “daddy” under it. It’s funny Rich.”

Richie had forgotten about that. He’d thought it was a joke, and he’d sat up drinking beer and eating pizza with his beard Natalie as she insisted, no, he was daddy material. Natalie was a twenty seven year old  from fucking Wisconsin of all places and played a ditzy granddaughter on a soap opera that Richie, being the terrible boyfriend he is, has never seen. She wouldn’t know daddy material if it slapped her in the face. She insists she does. But it’s kind of like the way she insists she's slept with Liam Hemsworth. Her beautiful blue eyes beg you to believe her, but she can’t keep the smirk off of her lips.

“No, I mean. Fuck Steve, you know you’re like a brother to me,”

Steve cackles,

“Damn, this is how you treat your family?”

“Ask my sister because the answer most definitely is yes. Anyway, the joke is about me liking a guy.”

There’s a pause,

“Um, Rich my dude. There’s a word for that and it’s called homophobia.”

Richie grunts and balls his free fist at his side,

“No like, I like a guy. For real.”

There’s a pause,

“Is something wrong with Natalie?”

“No, no no! Oh god Natalie. I have to tell her. Oh god, I can’t go on tonight. I can’t.” He says pathetically. Desperately.

“I understand this is a crisis situation, I do, but we’ve got a baby on the way, and this show is raking in like a quarter of a mill so, you’re going on.”

“A baby? Oh wow!”

Something Richie will never have. Wait. Where did that come from? Does he want kids?

“Richie, shut up. Okay, I’m only going to ask once, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Richie hesitates. He wonders if Natalie will still want to be friends.

“If you think this will ruin her career, we’re not doing it.”

“Other than that?”

Richie presses his thumbs against his eyelids in concentration.

“Yes.”

It’s barely a whisper.

“I’ll take care of everything.”

“Steve-“

“Everything. Be at the studio at 5.”

“But I don’t go on til 8.”

“Richie, be there on time I swear to god.”

Richie shows up around 6:30. He hasn’t heard from Natalie or Steve, so they can’t be too pissed.

He’d had to shower twice. He’d talked to Mike on the phone. He’d texted Eddie about twice before he got nervous. He’s tired and crabby and this is not the way he’s supposed to be starting his first show back. Not by a long shot.

So the first thing he does is ask the first person he sees for some scotch. Steve might kill him but he needs to be at least tipsy to make it through this one.

He’d thought he was ready, but maybe he wasn’t. He’s not ready to face Steve’s inevitable wrath, or at least annoyance, so he ducks into the dressing room.

To his dismay, Natalie is in there, talking to his hairstylist Maggie. She stands up immediately and she’s got her wide smile on and she hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek instead of his lips,

“You’re late.”

“Sue me.”

She snorts, “I have a lot of reasons too, so I’d shut up. Anyway, I have dinner for you.”

“Dinner?”

“I’m not just a pretty face you know.” And she hands him a Tupperware container.

He hasn’t seen Tupperware in like 15 years. He laughs and she rolls her eyes,

“Come on, there’s a microwave over here.”

She places her hand on the small of his back, perhaps more out of muscle memory and she leads him into the small kitchenette, taking back the Tupperware before heating the food.

“So? This is interesting.”

“You can’t be.. surprised.” He says, even though that’s a straight lie.

“I assumed all men in their forties had issues getting it up, even when a pair of perfect tits in their face.”

He knows she’s kidding. He does, and it’s not even the first time she’d given it back as good as she got but he suddenly feels like crying. She must sense this immediately because Natalie is amazing like that, and she’s wrapping her arms around him. He cries into her chest like a fucking child. They only pull away after the microwave beeps for like the millionth time.

“Oh honey. It’s going to be okay.”

“How are you going to be?”

“Oh you’re cutting me a check. Steve promised.”

“You should be cutting me a check princess. I know your contract just got renewed.”

“You’re making nearly 25k... tonight.”

“Snooping are we?”

She shoves the Tupperware at him,

“Eat your dinner.”

“Natalie, are we still, gonna be friends I mean?” He asks sheepishly.

She made him chicken, potatoes and green beans. He knows everything is homemade. She hated the chemicals in the fake meat he ate. Hey, he was gonna die for a lot of other shit, and probably first. The environment was worth it. Okay not time for a fucking rant right now.

“Honey, we’re family.”

There’s a knock on the door,

“Rich? I’ve got the fucking liquor you ordered.” Steve says, handing him the bottle. “Do not get too wasted.”

Richie gets like.. half a shot too wasted. He’s buzzing. He’s flushed and warm and his hands are sweaty and Natalie isn’t fawning all over him like she usually does and he is stressed. He’s alone. He wants to message Eddie but he pussies out.

When he goes out, the screams are deafening. Once he gets the mic in his hand, he’s flying. He goes on about the nasty gash on his face, hobbling around with a twisted rib and how his crazy, lazy, halfway drunk ass is going to be an uncle. The jokes flow easily, even if he didn’t plan on saying it, and suddenly he has the terrible thought, shrugs and hopes that Sarah has already told her baby daddy.

And then he gets into it.

“So I know you’re all dying to know what the hell happened. I wish I could say that it was some badass like, car robbery. But it was just a straight up mugging. The thing is that I was with my friends, right? I know that’s shocking, hardy har har. But I’m with some friends, and I have this one friend. Her name is Bev, she’s gorgeous, and a bad ass through and through, strongest person I know, my bad, I’m exposing myself a bit too much, I am a heartless prick, I promise.

“But we’re at a bar, and some skeeze, no a real dick, I mean it. Takes her purse. Is this fucking 1992? Who steals a purse? Now, I’ve got a shit ton of liquor in me, but suddenly I’m running. And it’s cold, we’re in Maine and it’s winter And I’m freezing my balls off. And I’ve almost got him, I did track in high school, yeah yeah I don’t look like I can run from here to backstage, I get it.”

The crowd roars.

“The point is, I’m almost on him. This motherfucker pulls out a knife. Now, I know this doesn’t sound funny but  listen, number one, Bev is a fucking receptionist at a dental office, she’s not even raking in the dollars. Trust me, I’ve paid her rent a few times,” he straight up hasn’t and even though he thinks it’s funny ,he shouts out a quick, “love you Bev!”

“Anyway, the guy pulls out a knife and goes insane. I thought this beer belly would protect me, but alas,” his voice is getting sad, so he pulls it together, “Anyway. The first of my friends to find me is someone I’m close to right. My first love. And I’m bleeding out on the cold cement, for real, Natalie, though she could have given me some tips on how to handle it so beautifully, but my first love’s in front of me and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

“So I’m going on and on and throwing around big words that my man child ass doesn’t know the meaning of, like love and forever, and he’s staring at me like the idiot I am, and I promise there’s a point to this joke, and the joke is that once again, Richie fumbled. Good old Rich just lost it. So the fuck up you see right here, it turns out I’m actually this way in real life. So please remember what an absolute goof I am, especially next time you want to stalk  me at fucking Dunn Brothers, and fuck up my oat milk latte, which is an extra ninety cents by the way, please remember that I’m a big dork,”

Suddenly there’s a commotion in the crowd and some guy is standing on his chair and Richie’s never wanted to die more,

“Did you say a guy?” He shouts.

It’s silent, before he nods slightly,

“Yes I did. I’m a big ol-“ he doesn’t even know what fucked up thing he’s going to say, when the crowd erupts into applause.

And he’s sure that some people left, or there’s comments, but the applause is all he needs. He is a slut for validation after all. Thank you love language quiz. Words of affirmation baby!

The rest of the set goes great and he’s still properly buzzed when he steps off stage. Steve is clapping him on the shoulder, even though he’s on the phone and then Richie’s rushed backstage and handed water and there’s. He squeezes the water bottle too tight and it explodes all over him. It’s freezing, even though he feels warm and before he’s thinking about it, he’s yanking off his shirts and suddenly someone’s handing him a towel and he hears a dog whistle. He’s about to tell Natalie to fuck off, when he sees who she’s standing by.

There. In the flesh, is Eddie Kaspbrak. He looks good, dammit. A maroon sweater and tight black jeans. His cheeks are flushed and he’s holding his black jacket in his arms.

“No one took his coat?” Richie yanks it out of his hands and throws it somewhere. “Where’s everybody else?”

He looks confused,

“What do you mean?”

“Impromptu Loser’s trip to my show. Is Bev pissed about the rent thing because I swear-“

Natalie sips at some cocktail awkwardly and Eddie swallows hard,

“Um, it’s just me.”

Richie halts. He sees someone off the scene - he knows these people’s names- he swears, it’s just dark. But he gestures for the booze again. Eddie came to see him. For his first show. Oh god. Eddie heard him go on about his jawline for Christ’s sake and now. He looks like a deer in headlights. The scotch is thrust into his hands and he takes three long pulls before doing anything.

The worst part is Eddie is just chilling. Kicking it, while Richie has this internal meltdown which he knows is showing on his face. He doesn’t know what to do so he all but thrusts the liquor at Eddie, grabs Natalie’s arm and storms off.

“What am I gonna do? Shit he’s here, he’s here.”

“You knew he was gonna hear the sketch anyway, why does it matter?”

“Because I’m drunk. I acted like a lovesick fool. My dad bod is exposed. What am I gonna do?! And be serious. There’s only room for one funny one in this relationship.”

She smiles,

“Good thing it’s me, my darling. Talk to him. He seems cool.”

“You talked to him?!”

“Uh yeah. He’s been back here since about half way through the set. Barged right back here. Lucky I recognized the name.”

He stares and she sighs,

“You’ve been saying his name in your sleep. Ever since the accident.”

“Oh god. You probably think I’m pathetic.”

“Not pathetic, in love.”

“In love? But I’m, we don’t know each other. We haven’t kept in touch in years.”

“Love doesn’t fade with age sweetie.”

“Oh stop being reasonable! I understand you just got a new gay best friend, but be logical.”

She snorts,

“Trust me, no one wants to go shopping with you. I am being logical. That man is head over heels for you. And you’re head over heels for him. Now do something about it before I kick your ass.”

“Your shoes are too expensive.”

“What am I gonna do? Talk about my feelings?”

She shakes her head quickly,

“Oh god no. Who knows what would come out. Just, ya know, go seduce him, with all of this.”

If it were anyone else he’d think they were kidding, but the have had sex dozens of times and so he knows she can’t be joking too much. His insecure ass isn’t that desperate so he keeps his mouth shut. She touches his shoulder,

“Go out there and kiss him. Just kiss him.”

He stares and she whacks his arm,

“And keep your mouth shut. No jokes.”

“What if he tries to slip in a little tongue?” He wags his eyebrows.

“You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

“Eddie thinks so,” he says quickly, before he can stop himself.

Natalie grins,

“By the grace of god he does. Now go kiss him dammit!”

He strides out of the room, not paying any attention to if she’s following him, but he bets she is, as if she’d miss this. Eddie is looking flushed and cradling the scotch bottle like a pacifier and all Richie does is take it out of his hand and set it down quickly. Eddie stares. Eddie’s here. Eddie came here. To California. To see his set. He’d paid to see Richie. He remembers to ask Steve about a refund, vaguely of course, before he’s fitting a hand around Eddie’s jaw, Eddie’s beautiful jaw and ducking in to kiss him.

There’s no symphony or choir that starts singing but his heart does feel about three sizes too big like that Dr.Seuss book, and Eddie kisses him back so softly, as if he’s going to break. More likely that he’ll pull away, but Richie can’t imagine. Pulling away from this magical kiss. Eddie’s tongue licks tentatively at his lips and Richie opens his mouth immediately in a grin.

He hears a dog whistle and an “Atta boy!” And wow he hates his team so much. They’re getting fired, the whole lot of them.

Things must get a little heated because he hears the sharp clearing of a throat,

“I can get you out the back way,” says Steve, sheepishly.

Except Steve, Steve can stay.

Richie is being handed a clean, dry shirt from someone, he’d forgotten, that wouldn’t be a good look, and then he takes Eddie’s hand. Firmly. It’s a good hand.

“You ready to get out of here?”

“After you,” Eddie says, squeezing back.

“Why not after you? You’re the one with the ass that won’t quit.”

“You’re the one paying for this Lyft so you’re going first.”

“Hm, expensive date. Am I going to get into your pants later at least?”

Eddie scoffs,

“Do you ever stop?”

Richie halts,

“Actually no. Is that a deal breaker, because-“

Eddie shakes his head quickly,

“No. No. I love it. I love you.”

Richie’s head swirls,

“Um. I’m not ready.”

He knows he’d brought this up. His secret had started it, but, the last person he’d said I love you to was Sarah. And he most certainly was not in love with Sarah.

“It’s okay. I just don’t want there to be any confusion on how I feel. I love you Richie.”

Eddie squeezes his hand as a black car pulls up in front of them.

“Damn that was fast.”

“Oh Edward, bold of you to assume I don’t have my own car.”

“Don’t call me that! God, you really are famous.”

“A little bit,” he says in a singsong voice, opening the door for Eddie.

“Shut up dick.”

“Hey, your face will look good in paper print, I think.”

Richie slides in the car next to Eddie,

“Your face would look good-

“Where Eddie?” He dares, “where?”

“You know what, your... mom. It’s unfair, I haven’t worked on my insults in thirty years, you’re over here being a professional cornball.”

Richie snorts,

“Not my problem. Cause I can go all night baby.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow,

“Can you now?”

There’s a cough from the front seat,

“Sorry Carl. I’ll tell my friend to simmer down, there are innocents around.”

“You know I can hear you starting it Richie. Right?”

“Carl, you wound me. How can you think that I would have such a dirty mind?”

“Where are we going sir?”

He makes a puking noise,

“Sir.. gross. Just home.”

“Sounds good sir,” Carl says once more to be a dick.

“I like the sound of that,” Eddie teases, “Sir.”

“Oh hell no. First of all, fuck off. Second of all, you’d be referring to me as sir under entirely different circumstances.”

Eddie’s face flames,

“Natalie didn’t say you were this insane.”

“Natalie, Angel, light of my life, would never betray me like that. What did she tell you?”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips,

“Secrets, secrets.”

“I don’t think you’re meant to be friends with my ex.”

Eddie pales slightly at that and Richie wonders if he made it too weird.

“I mean, she’s my best friend too so,”

“No no, it’s fine, I just never thought of it like that. Oh god? That’s my competition? Teenie bopper soap star with a great rack?”

Richie stiffens at hearing Natalie being reduced to that, but he hears what Eddie is saying,

“There’s no competition Eds. Never been one.”

Eddie looks up at him and smiles softly. Richie leans in for a kiss. It gets a little heated and Richie tries to stretch out so Eddie can lay beside him, but Eddie kicks Carl’s chair and there’s a very judgmental  stare coming from the rear view mirror,

“Mr.Tozier, there’s a reason I don’t drive preteens anymore.”

“Fine, fine, can you speed up then?”

“I am happily going the five over the speed limit you usually request.”

“If I pay you extra can you make it ten?”

He hesitates like he wouldn’t do it for free, before grinning,

“3%?”

“Done.”

The car speeds a little faster and luckily Eddie’s short enough to crunch his legs up on the seat so that he can lay on Richie’s chest. He feels good. He feels real. He feels promised.

[ocular-intercourse]

i keep going over some bits of the convo with my mom

and my favorites were when she said that i keep excusing my behavior (texting more than phone calls or face to face convos) with my autism but when i really want to do something i can do it real quick.. which, yeah, okay, i definitely get myself to do stuff i want to do quicker, who doesn’t, but that still takes me months to years to get there that’s just all a struggle she does not see, like, it took me pretty much 10 years to contact doctors regarding the transition, in her mind it’s like i just noticed and decided to transition and picked up the phone to get this rolling last year. i’m just over here laughing bitterly at the implication that doing things comes easy to me as long as i want to do them, god, i wish

and, when i told her regardless of the transgender topic, if a person comes to you and asks you not to call them something but you keep calling them that, that’s disrespectful no matter why or who’s involved, and her answer to that was just ‘we picked your name because we liked it’ as if i had told her ‘how dare you call me this hideous name', in any way ‘i wont call you this cause i just like xy better’ is not exactly a great excuse

she also said she is losing a daughter (but is gaining a son, so that note was nice at least) and that’s still the most surreal feeling about this thing, as if i died and she’s mourning now, like, if she’s really mourning losing the concept of ‘daughter’ then she never really saw me as a person in the first place, cause she’s somehow expecting me to change now that the title switched from daughter to son, like she legit told me ‘i’m still calling you laura cause i still see you as the same person’ as if that’s an excuse?? and i said ‘and i will keep being the same person??? maybe a little bit happier, a little bit more confident, but the content is the same??’, she said once there are more male attributes it will be easier to her, but i honestly don’t know which changes she is expecting at this point, i don’t know if my voice will get any deeper, looking at the men in my family beard growth is not exactly high as is, i am and have already been hairier, leg hair wise, then my brothers are for years, and am often enough wearing a binder around her, i’m seriously wondering when the switch will flip in her mind and i will be ‘male enough’ to get recognized as such

but! the whole convo stuck with my parents enough that they are now noting whenever they say my birthname, at dinner the next day my mom suggested they’d have to establish the rule that they’d have to pay 1 € any time they call me by the wrong name and maybe they’ll learn quicker

so success?? kinda? i think they understood what i was telling them, that this will not be a magical switch, that something needs to happen on the outside and suddenly it works, but that it is something they will have to practice to make it work eventually

but also the convo really showed how skewered her perceptions are sometimes, when she was talking about how bad she was doing, and crying how nobody would see it, i had to remind her that literally every longer conversation we’ve had in the last three months or so included me begging her to get some help (remember that post i made about how she thought therapy would be good for her but my dad does not want her to go.. yeah, this has been going on for a while) i keep telling her i worry and she needs to say no to people and look out for herself and fuck my dad’s opinion and everything, but in her mind nobody sees her struggling. we also had this bit about our last discussion about them deadnaming me getting cut short and me offering her, via text on the way home, that we can talk about it some more on the phone if she wanted too, and she answerd that she would only want to talk about it face to face, and then she deadass blamed me during that conversation on sunday that i refused to call her, she was like ‘i told you i did not want to talk to you about this over the phone but then you did not call me for 10 days??!’ to just chat and talk about other stuff, how silly would that have been, yeah we are in this fight rn but let’s just pretend sometimes that we are not and talk about our day to day hasdghjk i offered her that phone call for HER sake, cause i know this weighs heavier on her than me, i personally did not need to talk this through but i knew she would struggle with it till we would, but noo i never try and accommodate her. that’s why i seriously hope she’ll get therapy and work on her perception of things cause she assumes when nobody shows her her worth in the way she would that obviously nobody loves her?? i had to go on a whole tangent explaining the love languages to her, and that if nobody spoke to her in her language that did not mean there wasn’t any love expressed towards her, she’d just need to learn to see it. like one thing she said was legit ‘your father only ever tells other people how great i am but never says it privately to me’ which, okay, i get that you’d want to hear that too, but he keeps bragging about you to others?? and you don’t see how great that is??? but no that doesn’t count for some reason

that whole fight between my parents was just my mom needing constant reaffirmation and my dad being unable to provide that, and both of them going ‘you know how i am i’ve always been like this, you should have learned that by now and act accordingly’ and i can see both sides cause i am like my father and struggle with expressing or even perceiving these things, but i also see that my mom struggles with constantly telling my father she needs this but him not complying. that’s one of the rare moments she accepts my autism diagnosis and tries to apply it to my father cause we are so similar (but boy does my dad not want to hear that) BUT accepting my diagnosis might be the wrong word cause with everything my mother just sees it as an excuse, but refuses to see that there is an actual problem at the root. it’s never ‘i understand that this is because of the autism and this is harder for you than it is for neurotypical people’ but always ‘i know this is hard for you (do you??) but you should do it anyways cause i need it and you saying you can’t just means you’re not trying hard enough (meaning you dont care about me at all)’ translation being: you’re just being lazy and using the autism to make things easier for yourself at the cost of others

the new allegory i came up with was that my mom asking my dad to notice these things was like asking a deaf person to watch out for the microwave beeping, sure the deaf guy could probably find a way, stand in front of the thing to see the timer run out or anything, but it would be much more effort than it would be for a hearing person, just going about their day waiting to hear the bing. i told her that my dad would have to get creative about it and that might not be something he realizes cause he sees himself as a neurotypical person that should not have to resort to these things, cause he is normal and not noticing these things is therefore just his personality. i told her he should like.. set a timer on his phone that’s like ‘tell my wife i appreciate her’ every sunday or whatever, and my mom would be totally okay with that. i wonder sometimes, how they view my thoughts on these things, the difference between their generation and mine, are they.. impressed? at the level of reflection, the things we learn about working on ourselves and our relationships, or are they like.. silly children that’s not how this works wait till you are my age

okay this turned out a way longer rant than intended lol

[athenafire]

Song of Frost

Because @xdeusxmachinax​ is a poo poo head.

    "What's wrong, TB?" Darci asked, concern clear in her tone. The two had been on a date in the woods outside of town, walking off a large meal.

   He stared in to darkness, watching a pale shape dance about. A discarded plastic bag flew past them, bringing about a sigh of relief. "Hah--litter bugs." he joked, noticing his breath fogging. "We should get going, got a test in math tomorrow." Toby groaned.

   "Oh no I forgot all about it!" Darci grabbed her hair in frustration. "Why do we even need algebra?"

   "Beats me--" Toby took several steps forward, leading the way. His foot caught a root, throwing him down a ditch in to a cold, wet wallow. He winced, feeling a cold pain crawl up his spine. "Darci?!" Toby called out, hearing no answer, he called again. Once more, and a fourth time with no answer. He turned his head to the mud, catching a glance of white in the corner of his eye. He lurched back, finding it only to be the moon. "Relax, Tobs, she probably...just can't hear you." he tried to comfort himself, finding it hard to stand, and even harder to escape the mud trap.     Once free, Toby tried to remove the mud and leaves caking themselves to his side, only to find them stuck there, frozen solid. "Huh that's weird. It never gets this cold in Arcadia." he wondered aloud. A hallow sound pricked his ear, like wind rushing through a cave. "Hhnn--Hello?" he called out, trying to reason with himself. The sound came again, throwing the teen in a panic, fleeing from the small wallow.

   Toby never was a good runner, he knew this. The mud became his downfall, hitting the dirt face-first, splitting his back-pack open. Supplies, snacks, his cell phone, and unfinished homework spilled out, water seeping in to the contents. "No--no, no, no!" he began with his phone, then shoving the snacks in his pockets before he noticed the last item. A wooden mask, propped against a rock, as if placed there. A trophy he stole from his time in the Darklands.

   "Heh--" he tried again, to calm himself. "How'd you get out here?" He reached for the mask, feeling cold breath at his back. His fingers froze to the mask, keeping him there. Afraid to turn around, and unable to move, it was now, that Tobias learned true fear. He could hear lips parting, that sound, the familiar sound of teeth scraping against stone.

   The sound shifted in to a song, first, as that same hallow sound as before. They held a rhythm. Then, the song changed, morphing in to the sound of his alarm clock.

   Morning, his warm bed sheets a welcome sanctuary as he awoke in a cold sweat. It had been only days since Tobys venture in the Darklands, but each night since, he had a nightmare of cold and frost. Teeth coming close enough, but always ending before the attack.

   "Wing-man?" Arrrgh inquired. He had watched Tobys fitful dream, but dared not wake him.

   'I have a big day tomorrow, so I need lots of sleep.' Toby had told him the night before.

   "Yeah I'm fine, just a bad dream again." he assured Arrrgh, getting up to start his day, ignoring his protectors concerns. They were just dreams. That thing was stuck in the Darklands. The only ways out were that mirror, and the fetch. Neither were big enough to let it out. Toby was safe here, he told himself. ---------------------------     Later, that night, Toby had planned to expand his rock collection in Trollmarket. When he spotted a familar set of horns, a smile bloomed, "HEY! VENDEL!!" Toby shouted, trotting over to the old Troll.

    With a sigh, the leader of Trollmarket greeted him, "Tobias! What brings you here this...fine evening?" Vendel stared down at the smallest Trollhunter, folding his hand behind his back.

   "Rocks! I saw a cool bit of rose quartz the other day. Oh, and some labradorite." he pulled open his backpack to pull out several stones, dropping it in the process. Toby explained the stones to Vendel, who barely listened, more interested in the colorful book covers than the chemical composition of stones he knew by heart.

   One thing, however, caught his eye. It looked like a bit of petrified driftwood. But then he noticed the grain did not match the bend, figuring it had to be carved. What stood out the most, were two slits, centered horizontally on odd bumps. His fur stood on end, as an ancient memory stirred. "Tobias...." Vendel spoke softly, "This way. Now." His words were quiet, but sharp. He gave the teen no time to gather his things, having to run to keep up with him.

   "Hey what's got you all spooked? You look like you saw a--"

   "Not now, Tobias." Vendel warned.

   They moved in silence, finding refuge in Vendels chamber. The old Troll paced around, making sure  no listeners could spy on their conversation. Slowly, he made his way back over to Toby, gently pulling a wooden mask from his backpack.

   "Where, on Earth, did you find this?" Vendel addressed Toby, concerned. His stare growing more intense the longer Toby did not answer. Neither would leave this room, until the mystery of this mask had been solved. "This is a matter pertaining not only to the safety of Heartstone Trollmarket, but to all of Troll kind, Tobias."

    With the gravity of the situation well established, he caved, explaining his trip to the Darklands, and his fight against the furred giant, the game-master of the Gumm-Gumms, Oddball.

   Vendel grew paler with each passing moment. "Frost Troll." The fear from before came crawling back, causing the old Troll to shake, gripping his staff tight enough almost crack it.

   "Frost Troll? Is that what she was? I thought she was just a weird hairy Krubera, like Arrrgh, but, white, and hairier. ...And bigger."

   "You swear you saw only one?" Vendel asked, watching Toby nod. "Then we may be lucky." he scratched his beard, "Had the whole clan decided to join Gunmar, after all these years..."

   Tobys frown grew, "What's a Frost Troll?"

   "Raiders! The whole reason any of this even started." he ranted, "Without Juns foolish actions, Gunmar may have never--" Vendel realized the confusion in Toby. "Perhaps a longer explanation is in order." He sat down, sighing a breath he sword froze the air around it. "This is an old story, Tobias."

   "Older than you are?"

   "I was young when I last heard the thunder, before--Before the ice cracked." He took a moment to gather his thoughts.

    "Frost Trolls, rulers of the North. They came with the frost, raiding the plains, retreating to their homes in steppes and on mountain peaks. Small bands, never more than ten or twenty. Never needed more, nothing could stop a roving band of Frost Trolls from their hunt. Except for another, larger band of Frost Trolls. Some clans hired them as mercenaries, others paid off their attackers to harass those that had sent them instead. Others? Trampled in the stampede, or frozen in their wake. Stories of Frost Trolls waving banners of fur shaved from fallen warriors could summon a storm, fed by angry spirits of their ancestors who still longed for battle. With the very storm on their side, they could have taken over every other clan in the North. But they were to busy fighting each other to organize. That was until Boguta the Bright-Eyed."

   "Boguta the what?"

   "Descriptions say she had eyes as white as newly fallen snow." Vendel elaborated. "Boguta was the daughter of a errr--oh, what's the word in your tongue?

   "King?"

   "No not quite...anyway, she saw the endless carnage between Frost Trolls, and all the clans below the line of permafrost. She saw no other way, but to make alliances with other roving war bands. One of my earliest memories, was the sound of a hundred Frost Trolls storming through, and the devastation they caused. Her army grew, bringing the Northern clans to their knees in a matter of months."

   "So what stopped them?"

   "That much is unclear, but her youngest son took up her mantle. He was Temui the Timid. Small, scholarly, unlike his siblings. He still towered over most other Trolls, but he too came with thunderous footsteps. He bore the banner of his mother, and demanded an audience with all of the local leaders."

   "Why would he want to talk?"

   "What was said never left that room. But, after that, the raids stopped, all at once. Many Frost Trolls tried to...integrate in to Troll society as hunters and laborers. But, even less trusted them. He met with the new council several more times, even more after Gunmar had begun his crusade."

   Toby swallowed, fearing what may come next.

   "But--one night, every Frost Troll across all of the Kingdoms vanished. Their homes emptied of belongings, leaving only unanswered questions. No one knows why they left, where they went, or if they even still exist. Not long after, Gunmar made his move. The organized army of Temui being one of the few things we felt stopped Gunmar from waging all out war."

   "And that's when it all started?"  

   Vendel nodded. "They wore masks during battle, much more elaborate than that one, covered in marks, and braided beads dangling from their horns and beards." he scratched his own again. "Tobias...if Gunmar has even one Frost Troll, this could mean he has more..."

  Vendels words echoed in Tobys mind. A roving band could topple an entire village. And Oddball had listened intently to Gunmar, obeying his every command. If Gunmar had even a few integrated in to his standing army, did Jim even have a shred of hope?

[kevinbugle]

King of Tin: Chapter 1

Waking up on a pile of plastic, rusty metal, and other spare bits of rotting garbage can never be the ideal way of waking up but unfortunately for me that is how my day started. Speaking of which, who am I? It took me a few minutes. Nix is about as far as I got. Nix. It didn’t sound right like saying a word too many times that it sounded familiar but wrong even though it's still the same word. But it was all I had to go off of so Nix it is. Now onto the next conundrum I faced; where am I? As far as the eye could see where piles upon piles of trash, rotting, bloated, festering trash. How I got here or why I was here completely escaped me. I don’t really know anything to be honest. I got up which was a hard task to complete as everything felt completely numbed until I tried to move my pelvis in under to sit up and then a wave of pain crashed through me. Blood rushed through me.

My predicament changed for better or for worse would be determined when a large figure approached me. It was a person but that could be easily mistaken as a pile of trash that had grown legs and started to move on its own. His hat was nothing more than a lid from a trash can with bits of Styrofoam dangling around the perimeter making it look like the ugliest sombrero ever invented. He wore a giant rain cloak that was covered in a strange greasy, ichor. Underneath the cloak he wore another thick jacket that was equally as musty. Trinkets, baubles, and other random junk strung around his chest and belt. He lumbered my way and I was so perplexed by his appearance I took no thought as to whether I should be afraid or not. But he managed his way over to me. He towered over me as I laid in the filth.

“Hi. My name is Pavel,” the man, Pavel, cheerful said to me. His face to no surprise was caked in grime. He had a prickly black beard and from the looks of it seemed he was bald.

“Nix,” I replied

He hand shot into satchel on the side of his hip. He rummaged and pulled out a little notebook with a pencil tied to it. He opened it up and jotted something down. “N-I-X, I assume?” He asked.

“Yeah,”

He put the notebook away. “It’s my book of names. You're the first Nix I’ve come across,” He smiled at me and waited awkwardly for me to respond. 

“Thanks,” It made sense to say.

“So Nix, what brings you here?”

“I have no idea,”

He frowned and put his hands on his hips. “Really? No idea at all?”

“No idea,”

“Well, that’s a bummer. Can you move okay?”

“Let me see,” and I mustered the strength and attempted to stand up. It hurt but I managed.

“Good work,” Pavel smiled at me

“Thank you,”

“You want to hang out at my house?”

“Yeah, sure,” I didn’t really want to but I had nowhere else to be. But now that I thought about it, he’s house was probably just somewhere here in the junk.

He held onto his smile “Right this way then,”

Pavel turned and started walking and I followed. Maybe it was the weight of all his junk but Pavel was slow as shit. He waddled more than walked but lucky for me I was also sort of waddling as my legs didn’t feel quite right so for the moment I was content with the pace. It didn’t help that the floor was made up of uneven junk so it was like stepping on rocks, jagged, rusty, smelly rocks. We walked for what seemed like half an hour before we were stopped. There was a man in front of us. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. He had a metal skull mask on and his eyes were glowing red. He wore thick, red cargo pants and had various cains hanging between his pockets. The most concerning aspect of him was the big wrench he had in his right hand. Pavel and I stopped. I stood behind Pavel. Pavel didn’t seem all that bothered by the man but I couldn’t see his face.

“Greetings traveler,” Pavel said to the skull man

The man groaned and then coughed or maybe it was a laugh that came out wrong. Some kind of liquid squirted out between the teeth of his skull mask. “Hand it over,” the man finally croaked out. He extended out his hand. “Your Paste,”

“I have no Paste,” replied Pavel, more concerned and serious than he had been with me. I could rightly assume that Pavel wasn’t happy to see this guy. Maybe an old rival.

I was very concerned about what this paste stuff was.

“Haha, I know you got some *ugh* Paste there buddy so *snort* hand it over,” the man shot back.

Pavel pulled back his cloak and grabbed something.

“Heehee,” the man snickered loudly and I could see his fingers flex around the handle of the wrench. Oh dear. The man lunged forward but with one quick movement, a blur of silver, Pavel demolished him across the face with a club. The man lurched backwards clutching his skull face.

He howled “Ow. Ow. Ow. Ooooooooooo,”

Pavel was holding a metal rod, nothing really special about it, just wrapped with tape at the handle but it was oddly shiny compared to how dirty everything else he carried was. “You done?” Pavel firmly said.

“RAH,” The man hissed back at Pavel. In another swift motion, Pavel extended out his arm and brandished what I assumed was a gun, I don’t know what else you would point at a man with deadly intent. Pavel pulled the trigger and a large spike shot out from the machine and glided straight through the man’s head. The spike impaled itself and the man’s entire brain onto a pile of trash behind him. The skull faced man obviously went slack and collapsed. I gasped.

“Oh bother,” Pavel plainly said.

“You killed that guy,”

“Yeah,”

“Wh-,”

“He’ll be fine,”

“Fine? You blew his brain out, the whole brain!” I exclaimed.

Pavel turned to look at me “He’ll still be revived, might take a couple of days but he’ll be good as new soon enough,”

“Revived? What are you talking about?”

Pavel looked really confused. “You don’t know?”

“No I don’t. I don’t know anything right now. I don’t know who you are, or who is-was that guy, I don’t know where I am or why I’m even here for that matter. So yeah, I don’t know,”

“Oh… my bad. Um, okay let me explain this,” Pavel meekly said. I may have offended him with my little rant but I couldn’t help myself. “People here don’t die. I don’t know if you noticed that green flash in the sky but it’s a satellite. Everytime it passes by everyone that’s dead gets revived at their bed,”

I stared at Pavel. Shit, I had no reason not to believe him. What am I talking about, of course I shouldn’t believe him.

“Here, we can wait here and watch,”

So we did. Sure enough, faintly up in the sky, a bright flash. Then the body of the man turned completely green, even the brain that was impaled on the spike. He glowed and glowed until it finally melted. And then nothing. 

“See,” Pavel looked at me.

I didn’t really know what to say. “So he’s going to be fine?”

“Well,” Pavel itched the back of his head. “It’s not good to die too often. It can cause scarring and if you do it too often in a short amount of time you can go a little mad. I think that's what happened to this fellow. Oh, that’s why he wanted Paste. Paste can help those that have died a lot feel new again. It heals the scars and settles the mind,”

I just stood there and blankly stared at him. Pavel stared back. He got a slight nervous look on his face and slowly started to turn. He began walking and I followed him. Immortality: with some slight downsides. It was a lot to take in. Everything was a lot right now.

We kept walking. We walked for what seemed like hours and the junkyard never seemed to end. But it did. Sort of. The floor stopped being made out of trash and instead turned into what one would assume to be dirt. It was hard and completely white. Other than that, barren. We pressed forward leaving behind this seeming enormous pile of trash that apparently was just laying there in the middle of this desert. Ahead, I saw a cabin. Pavel’s cabin. If one looked at Pavel and then this shack, it would be easy to tell it belonged to him. Trash littered the perimeter. The outside wooden walls had random trinkets and curios hanging off of it. He was a hoarder and damn good at it. Pavel led me inside. I immediately felt claustrophobic as the room we entered was cramped from all the trash. Pavel moved through it with ease like a nimble deer. He disappeared behind some boxes. I looked for a place to sit. I found a beyond dusty little sofa and plopped myself down. It felt nice to sit. I tried to take in all of Pavel’s “collection” but the thought just made me dizzy. So I stared up at the ceiling and waited for Pavel to return. Understandably, it took him about five minutes to remove his whole loadout. He returned to me with a once white flannel turned more ashy gray and a blue beanie. He still wore the same dirty cargo pants. Pavel looked so small now. He looked old too.

Pavel smiled at me, friendly like always. “What do you think? I know its a bit messy, haha, I wasn’t expecting anyone over,”

“It’s nice Pavel,” I kindly said to him.

“Ah, lookie here,” He reached down like a bird finding a worm and pulled out a brown paper bag from underneath the heap of trash. He handed it to me. I opened it. It was filled with rubber ducks.

“It’s the start of a little collection I got going on. I’m a collector as you can see. Names, cans, scrap metal, ohhh, boots. I got big collections, ones that I’m really trying to grow but then I have smaller ones that I keep to the side like those duckies there,”

“You collect names?” I cock my head to the side.

“Why yes of course,” He pulls out his notebook from before. He handed it to me and began to flip through the dusty pages. He must have had fifty pages filled top to bottom with names. I gave it back to him with a weak smile.

“Pavel?” I asked.

“Yes?”

“Where are we?”

“This is my house,”

“No I mean, this planet,”

“Oh, this is Tin,”

I paused for a moment. “And where in Tin are we?”

“Oh I don’t really know. We don’t really have names for things, just towns but other than that everything is just Tin,” He paused and he started to frown. “Are you not from here?”

“No,” I answered. I didn’t know where I was from but I know it wasn’t from here. “How do I get out?”

“You can’t. The King doesn't let anyone,”

“The King? There is a king?”

“Yeah,” He plainly responded. “He runs the place, him and his white knights. He’s rules are very relaxed. I’ve never had a run in with him. His one rule is no one leaves,”

“Where is he?”

“You want to see the King? Why?” He looked absolutely baffled.

“I have to get out of here,”

Pavel paused and seemed lost in thought. “I don’t know for sure where he lives but I know someone in Smalltown could help you, the warden perhaps,”

“Can you take me to Smalltown?”

He smiled weakly. “I can show you the way there but I can’t leave this junkyard. It’s too valuable to me,”

“What do you mean?” I asked

“It may seem like junk to you but sometimes you find stuff too precious to let go. You're not the first person I’ve found in the junkyard. Spaceships that fly too close to Tin are shot down by the King. Sometimes the pilots survive and I’m able to get to them before the white knights do,”

I don’t know how to respond so I just nod my head. 

Pavel slaps his knee. “Ah but you can’t go traveling in that, here I’ll let you borrow some stuff,” And with that, he got all giddy again and disappeared into the trash. I slowly got up from the chair. I still had no idea of anything. I don’t know where I came from or how I ended up here on Tin. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. I wasn’t even entirely sure if my name is Nix. But finding the King just felt right to me like it was something I was doing before this happened to me. It was something and is this haze of confusion it was all I could go on. 

Pavel came back with his arms filled with a bundle of what looked like clothes. “Alright. I brought you some better clothes. I know it seems warm now but trust me, sometimes the weather will go on the fritz and next thing you know you're in a territorial downpour and you’ll be thankful for this jacket,” He handed me a black leather with a hoodie stitched into it. It was very thick because of this. He also handed me a gray flannel and some worn out jeans. I stripped in front of him. The clothes somehow fit me almost perfectly. I was wearing a plain white t-shirt and greyish white pants with no pockets. When I take my shirt off, Pavel raises his eyebrows. 

Pavel smiles weakly again. He hands me a device. It’s a cell phone. “Can’t go without one of these. Here, this one is wiped already so you should boot it up real quick,” and I did as he said. Once I finished the installation, Pavel reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Pavel’s phone had a ginormous case and thus looked like a black metal brick. “Here, I’ll give you my number in case you need any help on your little adventure,” I punch in his number. Next he gives me a simple sandy colored backpack. After I put the pack on, Pavel reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun still in the holster. I swallow hard.

“You’ll need this,”

I nod. I take the gun. My palms start to sweat. I hastily clip the gun onto my belt.

“Thank you Pavel, you saved my life,” I calmly told him.

“It’s what I do Nix,”

I don’t need to say anything. We both nod at each other and head outside. Pavel leads me a few miles away from his house and then stops. “It’ll take you about a day or two on foot but Smalltown is just straight that way. It’s hard to miss,”

“Thank you again Pavel,”

He gives me a big smile again. “Good luck Nix. Don’t be a stranger,”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Tonight

Bucky x fem!Reader

Content: SMUT. Pure, smutty smut. Do not read if you are below 18. Please.

A/N: Happy birthday @tarithenurse !!!

I know this isn’t even half as decent as what you write but I wanted to do something special (and hopefully naughty) for you. hehehe.

Masterlist and Taglist in bio, doll

"Aw! Fuck me!" Awkward silence. "Fuck Thor!" "...I don't think he has anything to do with this." You look at Bucky with a glare of disapproval.

"The God of Thunder is out there having fun with the Llamas at Macchu Pichu while you and I are stuck here in the Facility, not able to step outside because of this fucking thunderstorm. Right when I finally make plans with you to go out for drinks! I can curse whoever I want!" Bucky parts his lips to say something sensible but finds nothing. "I really was looking forward to going out," you nearly cry. "Oh!" Bucky's beard hides the smile when he bubbles with joy at the thought that you were looking forward to the night out with him. Just him and no one else. You barely would join other Avengers on their nights out, choosing to sit in the lounge and binge watch whatever stirred your fancy at that particular moment. Last week had been a Hannibal marathon and this poor soldier thought to join you because it sounded like a detective series with a new-age love. It had taken you a few minutes to realise he was talking about the tinge of romance between the protagonist and antagonist before bursting out into controllable laughter fits every time that poor sod found out what the show was actually about. So much for trying to find your taste, he thought, feeling it was better to just ask you out to a nice place for drinks and a game of pool. Half of his existence had been anxious at the thought of being rejected. The other half was already planning the menu as per your liking, your favourite karaoke songs and stop for dessert on your way back. But this cursed downpour had literally soiled all his plans. "Your expression just changed," your voice brings him out of his personal internal rant. "I...uh..." Bucky tries to make it sound as non-creepy as possible, "I was also looking forward to the drinks. They had a special discount on beer tonight." He watches your eyes flicker wide for a seconds before melting into a smile and moving away from the window. Special discount?!! he shouts at himself, nice one Buck. "We can drink here." Bucky turns to find you already out of your heels, your perfect legs hanging as you sit down on the sofa's headrest. Bucky questions his eyes as he notices the flowing blue dress rest over your knees, spread about the side of your thighs like wings resting. Your shoulders rise up a little, suggesting a shrug, and he feels his lungs pause for a moment. What? is all his brain can come up with. "Y-Yeah, we can drink here," he manages to respond. You feel a flutter inside your stomach. Observant as you are, Bucky's usually wavering gaze coming to rest on you at times he thinks you aren't looking has become your subject of adoration and his undoing lately. From the time he watches you change your expressions during meetings to when he is completely lost in thought of what's going on in your mind when you don't cry during a Disney movie. So much entertaining is his gaping blue glistening in the mystery that is you that you often try to act as if he's invisible to you, going about the things you usually do with just a dash of some sensual suggestiveness, though it just didn't work when Bucky choked on the water he was drinking and Steve and Sam had to come to his rescue to get this man to breathe. Tonight, with all the Avengers out of your way, searching for some new trouble to throw hands at, your mind was already working on how to bring this flustered cinnamon roll out of his twisted shell, laughing ominously at the thought of the things brewing up at that very instant. Thunderstorms might be good sometimes. "We're playing what?" Pressing away the smirk and trying to ignore the heat building up in your ears, you poured out the cola in the two tall glasses of a classic Long Island Iced Tea. "Never have I ever," you repeat before taking the glasses and strutting towards the break room on the floor above that is lit up only by the lights outside. Bucky follows you with bowls of nachos and garlic chips in either hand. "Never have you ever what?" he questions your seemingly incomplete sentence, making you laugh. "No, you goose, never have I ever is the name of the game." Setting the glasses down on the coffee table you push out the makeshift sofa to turn it into a comfy settee for two. "But considering it's just the two of us, I've customised it." Bucky sets down the bowls, mimicking your movement before sitting down next to you under the skylight pattering with raindrops over it, sliding down the glass to one side, making his skin look like he is standing under a waterfall, waiting to be devoured by the subtle waves. How openly bold you are with your mind, while Bucky is struggling not to let such thoughts infiltrate his conscience and do something stupid. The thing is, stupid was what you were craving tonight. "So," you begin, bringing one leg up to sit comfortably while facing Bucky, "here are the rules. I will tell you something about myself that may or may not be true. You have to figure out what it is. If you guess it correctly, you win, if you don't, I do." Bucky's brows crinkle a bit as he tries to understand the walkthrough. "For example," you continue, trying to make things easier for him, "I say 'never have I ever eaten Sam's doughnuts behind his back'." "That's false," Bucky blurts out immediately, "I saw you having death by chocolate just this morning," before realising what he's done. "I ...uh-" "Perfect!" You cannot help but smirk at the colour in his cheeks. "Now as you won, I will," you bring your fingers to lightly rest on your lips in some thought before you eyes catch his, "take a piece of my clothing off." For the second time this month, you're glad Bucky was not drinking anything when you laid down your carefully designed words for him. He forgets how to breathe, the air around him turning heavy as he feels his ears heat up while his belly does a little flip. Your eyes do not miss the tongue that darts out to lick his lips as you bring your glass forward to hide a miniature sense of victory bursting inside you. Bucky runs his hand through his hair in some nervous thought. "Not comfy playing?" The purr in your voice tickles his core and he knows now that he has walked into a brilliantly woven threadwork of your liking. Natasha did warn him about how people who are publicly shy are the boldest in person. He just didn't realise this was the bold she'd meant. Not that he was complaining. "Shall we?" Clinking glasses, both of you take one good swig of the cold brew for reasons known only to your bodies before letting the game begin. "Let's start simple," you go off, smacking your lips and tasting the mint you had added for your own liking in there, "never have I ever lied to Nat." Bucky cocks a brow at you. "You call that simple?" You nod matter of factly before shrugging your shoulders. "Okay. Um...true. Nat is very good at catching liars." You tilted your head in wonderment before tucking your hair back, watching Bucky's eyes run over your neck, his Adam's apple feeling a jerk as he gulped in the sight of you. "Am I making you nervous, Sargeant?" Bucky blinks, buying himself time to gather his thoughts. "N-ahem-no." "Hm-" you nod before tilting head up in a little nod, "time to take off your jacket." "What?" "I said 'never have I ever lied to Nat'. That was false. Just because Nat is good at catching lies doesn't imply it stopped me from lying to her." A smirk plays on your lips as you watch his surprised features take in a cold hard fact before his arms slide off his jacket, revealing a black henley, exposing his chest under that red muffler just enough to make you shift where you sit. "Your turn," you state, taking a tortilla chip topped with all the spicey cheesiness before putting the whole thing inside your mouth, letting the sauces drip a little over your lips, allowing yourself lick it all off without breaking eye contact with the man who was slowly getting a hang of your play. Bucky faced you this time, looking down at his metal hand before his eyes landed back on you. "Never have I ever kissed a woman." You cannot help but chuckle, impressed at how fast he catches on to you, forcing your core to twitch in anticipation as you two start to play the game. "False," you speak softly, your index pressed tightly under your teeth, anchoring your already swirling mind in between your jaw, wondering what would it be like to kiss those red lips. "Steve has told everyone stories about you, Sarge. Quite the player you have been in the old days." Bucky smirks just enough to let you know you're not wrong. He groans a little before removing the muffler around his neck. You hear your insides growl at that red piece of fabric. Good. Get off that perfect chest. About time it was exposed for some blissful sins. "My turn," you snap at your own thoughts as the ache between your legs begins to take control of you. "Hmm...never have I ever kissed a girl," you state, biting your lips before allowing the smirk to escape not only your lips but your eyes too. Bucky shifts this time, the heat coursing through him being felt where you sit. "False." Nothing but the sound of raindrops. A heavy inhale follows as you remove your jacket, revealing the peeking shoulders and the plunging neckline reaching down further than either of you anticipate at that moment. Bucky wonders if you had planned to kill him with just that tonight. Only if he knew. "Never have I ever made out in someone's workplace." You almost snort out your drink. "Did it involve belts and ties?" The question throws Bucky off, making him struggle for words. "No? How about rulers?" And the image that crosses his mind creates a prick inside him. A delicious thirst-filled prick. "False," you say confidently, "you seem the type who knows how to use them all. Especially the ruler." The lick of his lips followed by the strong dig his teeth take on them makes you want to do the same to them. You watch him sit back as he casually rests his arm over the back of the sofa. Oops. "Now what would you like to take off?" You narrow your eyes at him before throwing your head back in defeat. "Guess I deserve that," you mumble before getting up. Bucky's eyes follow your movements as your hands reach under your dress, lifting it up further above your thighs, making his lips part, his heart beat fasten, his eyes blink at the scene where his imagination runs to before averting his gaze. Oh, my sweet Brooklyn boy. "These stockings weren't letting me breathe anyways." He comes back to look at the pair of stretched fabric you hold in your hand before throwing over to the lone chair sitting at the opposite end. "My turn," you announce before sitting back down, this time a bit closer to him. "Never have I ever... slapped the person I was making out with." You can almost feel the devil cackling over your shoulder as you hear the tempting whir of his metal arm, clearly gripping at the words being so flawlessly painted in his imagination. The heat building inside him was working as a perfect catalyst to vaporise his sensual thoughts in the air around, making you inhale the burning aroma plum and woody spice lingering all around him, making your belly ache. "That's um..." "Take your time," you assure him, resting your head on the settee's headrest, watching the liquid ceiling over you run over his features like a visual note. Bucky looks at you with careful consideration. At least that's what you think till his glittering oceans seem more like they are playing with your most innate strings without your knowledge. "False," he finally speaks. Finally. Taking your drink in your hand, you bring your other leg over the settee as well, watching him suggestively. "Really?" "Guess we both don't know about each other as much. There really is a need to...explore more." The breath he draws in creates a spark in the air that travels down your limbs. "If you're not comfortable, we can stop," you assure him on the outside but deep down your ovaries are smacking you hard at even suggesting such an outrageous thing. "The only one getting uncomfortable tonight is whoever watches the facility footage," he speculated before his arms to grab the shirt on his back, causing you to bite down on your thumb a little too hard as you watched his muscles flex as the curtains drew up from the poetry that was his exposed skin feeling the goosebumps by just your mere stare. The threads holding the animal inside you start to feel the stretch; one even snaps. His chest glistens with a blue hue from the lights outside before he settles back into the seat, pushing his back with both his hands. The metal lets the lights dance upon it before reflecting it on your skin, touching you without touching you, leaving you breathless for one torturous moment. Not wasting time now, are we? "Never have I ever-" the husk in Bucky's voice brings your attention back to his blue eyes, dilated to let the wolf inside glare its teeth at you- "dreamed about kissing the woman sitting in front of me." Every breath you take in now aches, your chest wanting to explode. "False," you say without breaking eye contact, "now get out of those pants." Throats run dry. Breaths hitch. Lips get wet. Legs shift to hide the arousal even in the heated darkness. Seconds later the pants are gone and he stands in front of you in just his boxers. "My turn," you declare as you stand up, trying your best not to tremble now. "Never have I ever wanted to know what it would be like to be loved by you," you speak softly, close to him, "hard." You raise your hand to touch his bare skin, feel it under your fingers and stop as soon as the word leaves him. "False." Lightning lights up the room for a second, breathing in the intensity of the room before thunder follows. His fingers run up your hand, creating a storm as the hot flesh and cold metal create a vacuum inside you, wandering up your arm till they find the slim strings holding the fabric up, skillfully moving them down your shoulders and leaving them halfway for gravity to do the rest. "Let's find out," he whispers before his lips find yours. You smell the saltiness over his lips, increasing your hunger more while his beard lights up the neurons inside you with the faintest touch. Your already pooling core feels the heat radiating off him as his metal wraps around your waist to bring you closer to his body. Your lips take a taste of his lips, giving him an open invitation to let his tongue run inside your mouth, gulping in the moan that pulsates inside you. Your hands find their own path on his skin, travelling down his front and back before finding a path down the lone fabric wrapped around him. A breathless moan escapes him as your hands wrap around his manhood, causing his fingers to dig into your ass. His hands leave your skin, producing a growl in your throat at the loss of his touch before they remove yours from his and gently push you back into the seat near the window. Your chuckle echoes through the glass walls around you. "What?" Bucky's confusion is visibly carved by the shades coming from outside. "You should've asked me out sooner," you purr as you watch him get down on his knees. "You should've played the game sooner," he throws back before grabbing your thighs and pulling you towards him with a jerk, forcing your upper body to fall back into the soft cushions. "You should've shown interest in psychological thrillers sooner," you chortle before gasping as you feel his hands yank away your pantyhose, almost ripping them apart, feeling him growl between your legs as he puts them over his shoulders. "You should've forced Thor to make it rain sooner." Your brows crinkle for a second at his words. "Wait wha-hol-" The words break into a breathless gasp as you feel his tongue find its way through your soaking folds. Every perfect stroke makes a ruthless moan escape through you, every skilful caress of the bundle of nerves forcing you to arch into him again and again till has to hold you in place with his flesh hand. His name escapes in a hurried whisper from your lips, making his length twitch, wanting to feel your heat all around it. He comes back up from the delicious pool, glistening in your liquor as he licks his lips. "Never have I ever craved for something so devastatingly beautiful," he whispers less and roars more as his metal digit enters you, the coldness creating a sensational storm inside your trembling walls. The cold digits move in out of you, caressing your walls right at the spots where Bucky feels you squirm before his tongue plays your nerves like a personal favourite string. Your hands go into his hair trying to find an anchor to the mini fireworks that his beard is creating on scratching in your slickness. The tides from the tsunami initiated inside you go back from the shore before beginning to rise up. Bucky can sense that from the gradual shudder his shoulders feel vibrating from your legs, working his fingers inside your most sensitive spots to let the waves crash and crumble everything that comes in the way. And oh, what a chaos it is! Breathless and smeared with sweat, he lets you take a breath before gently displacing your legs. Your arms almost feel numb as you get up to face him, watching the blue dilated to the maximum with the hunger watching right from the edges. "That was-" He doesn't let you complete your mushed up thoughts as his finger lands on your lips while his own shush you. Not what I was expecting, you hear your brain call out from somewhere before lighting up with the fury of a thousand suns as his tongue finds it way up your neck to the back of your ear, pushing you back down as he weight lands over you along with the bulge working its way to your core. Satisfying as the high was, you feel your restless core grinding against his erection as soon as his thighs part your legs. He plays with you first, never entering you, drinking in every grunt and agitated moan leaving your lungs until your fingers dig into the skin on his back, forcing his beast to lurch forward and allow you to resonate with the sparkles dancing inside him. Both of you shudder audibly on feeling each other. Your walls flutter in his presence while he soaks in the heat you are radiating in its prime. Moving his hips away, he comes back hard, his tongue already inside you, ready to swallow every vibration leaving you that was the result of his movements. Second thrust, you feel your teeth bite his lips and your fingers drag down to the small over his back before generously feeling his buttcheeks in your hands. Another thrust comes harder than before, the cry escaping your lungs in the air while he sucks and nibs your shoulders, accelerating the high. Your hips rise up further into his, creating a rhythm of their own, allowing Bucky to increase his pace, drawing clandestine groans from you. The tides rise again this time further as you heard him grunt and call out your name in unadulterated pleasure. "Yes, doll," his panting voice urges you further to the cliff where the rocks wait for the foaming waters to wash over them, rocking his hips into your without any restraints. Your walls begin to clench around him, feeling yourself close to the edge with every ferocious stroke. Your breaths become shallow, your grip hard. Your cries become fervent driving Bucky further inside you till you feel yourself crumble once again under him. He doesn't slow down as your legs shudder under him, elongating the already fueled up orgasm. His own groans turn shallow as he feels his high coming up, making his movements sloppier, faster, dirtier. You feel his length swell up inside you, driving you down into the depths of the storm before filling you up inside with final thrusts eroding under his own high. Neither of you moves in the movements that watch you catch your breaths and let the pleasure work through every part of your body. Bucky carefully pulls out of you and lies down beside you. You raise your head to bring his cold, soothing metal under your overheated neck. "People usually kiss on first dates," you wondered out loud before turning to look at his amused blues and bursting into light laughter that Bucky joined in. "I don't think those people strip on their first date," he chimes in. "Touché." His metal folds around your shoulder to bring you closer for him to plant one long, soft kiss on your forehead. "By the way," he whispers right into your ear, "happy birthday." Your grin knows no boundaries as the happiness flows out of your stretched lips even as you rest your head on his chest and try to hide under his hair. "I guess thunderstorms are not that bad after all."

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